


Little Lies

by xCake



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Because there's a ton of it, Bisexuality, Can I tag angst again?, Dissociation, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Mental Illness, Multi, Praise Kink, Punishment, Suicide Attempt, Threesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-05-29 13:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19401487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xCake/pseuds/xCake
Summary: You went to Bucky when you wanted punishment. He’d be rough with you because he understood your self-loathing, and he’d leave bruises on your hips that wouldn’t go away for a week. You loved it. He didn’t.You went to Steve when you wanted reassurance. You went to him because he liked to whisper sweet, sweet things into your ear as he made love to you. He'd tell you that you were perfect and amazing and beautiful. Then you’d get your fill, just far too much of it. He cared too much.It all came to a head when the three of you went on a mission together. You’d done it a hundred times, even during this mess of a situation, and still neither of them was any the wiser. Your little lies always slipped right through the cracks - until one night, they didn’t.[ Steve x Reader x Bucky ]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @fvckingavengers's MCU Writing Challenge on Tumblr. 
> 
> Prompt #5:  
>  _The lies that tied your tongue in knots_  
>  _Are the words that grew to hit my spots_  
>  _So filthy, dialed desire_  
>  _Swallowed pride but spit out fire_  
>  _Liars turn me on_
> 
> ([Bounce - The Cab](https://open.spotify.com/track/3kQKJx9hnlEpJRtusM9da0?si=0O6LseEIR72X7ky9vFMCIQ))

_July 2015_

The first time for Bucky was in Romania.

To say the mission had gone poorly was an understatement. The two of you went in guns blazing to a situation you hadn’t had time to fully investigate. It was a last-minute human trafficking transport and if you hadn’t jumped onto the ship at the last minute, there would have been no way to track it down and all of its victims would have been lost to the world.

The landing was the worst part. The gap between the platform and the ship was almost too far for him, let alone you. He’d literally had to hoist you over his shoulder before he did it, and the harsh landing knocked the wind out of you. His shoulder slamming into your abdomen had left bruises.

It wasn’t exactly the best way to start a fight. Somehow, the two of you stumbled your way down through the ship, and after a painful few minutes, the crew was either dead or captured – but not without a price. The victims had been killed as retaliation. Every single one of them.

He’d been relatively fine, all things considered – bothered by the end result, of course, but he was resilient. You, on the other hand, blamed yourself for not being able to save them. You’d managed to save the ship, but not its cargo and definitely not your dignity.

Bucky didn’t report back to HQ that the mission had been a failure just yet. Instead, he said it was a minor setback but you were following up on another lead. It was a lie, of course. There was no lead. He’d seen the horrified look on your face when you realized what had happened and he knew that you couldn’t handle going back just yet. Being confined to the compound was the last thing you needed. You needed space. You needed to breathe. He could spare you an extra day for that.

You’d dealt with failures like this before, but they always got to you. They bothered you in a way that haunted him. He’d seen the way it affected you a handful of times over the last couple of years you’d been working together.

It rained that night. The water was loud on the tin rooftop, a rapid cadence that kept Bucky awake. There were two beds in the small motel room, one for each of you. Your belongings were sparse: one shared duffel for clothes, another for weapons and armour. You’d been working together off and on for so long that it wasn’t unusual to share, but efficient. Even so, his breath still hitched in his throat every now and then when he accidentally pulled out a pair of your panties by mistake.

You were sleeping soundly on the other side of the room, or so he thought – but he couldn’t see your face. At some point, he did manage to nod off, but only for a couple of winks.

Sometime in the middle of the night, his sheets shifted just slightly, and then he felt the bed dip. His eyes slowly opened, vision blurry until your soft leg brushed against his and then he was wide awake in an instant. You’d climbed into his bed – got into bed _with him_ – and all you were wearing was a tight tank top and a pair of tiny little sleep shorts that drove him insane.

This summer was particularly hot. Muggy. No air conditioning. That was your excuse for wearing so little when he’d teased you about it in recent days.

“What are you doing?” Bucky whispered, his voice rough from sleep. He was looking up at you in awe, blue eyes wide, cheeks flushed from the heat.

You lay down next to him, facing him, and slowly trailed your fingers down his bare chest. When you spoke, your breathy voice made his cock twitch. “You know what I’m doing, Bucky.”

His thoughts immediately started to race. He couldn’t do this. Not with you. Steve had been in love with you for months. He’d confided that to him because he knew how frequently the two of you got assigned together. He trusted Bucky not to do exactly this.

The only problem was that Bucky was in love with you too. Maybe even longer than Steve. He didn’t think it was worth sacrificing Steve’s happiness to pursue you - not for _him,_ with his tortured past, with so many deaths caused by his hand - and he’d done his best to quell his feelings for the sake of his best friend. It hadn’t worked.

It wasn’t working now, either.

“Why?” was all he could manage to get out. Your fingertips felt like pure fire on his skin.

“Because,” you breathed into his ear, before your tongue traced the shell of it and he shivered, “you’ll make me forget.”

Then your perfect lips were on his, and he melted like butter. Your body was so soft, so warm, so pliable for him that he couldn’t stop. He’d worshipped you with his fingers, his mouth, and finally his aching cock until you were spent three times over and he’d made a mess all over your stomach.

When he started to get up to fetch a wet washcloth for you, to help clean you up, you pulled him back to bed and said you’d do it yourself. You always had to do things yourself. You didn’t want him to take care of you. You didn’t want his aftercare.

Despite that, it was rare for you to seek help like you’d just done with him, and in some twisted way he felt wanted. 

Bucky fell asleep with you in his arms, but when he woke, the sheets were long cold.

* * *

_August 2015_

The first time for Steve was in Small Town, USA.

The two of you had been undercover for the last three weeks acting as newlyweds.

You put on a perfect southern drawl for your cover, and it drove him crazy in the best way. You were nothing like the sweet southern belle you pretended to be. You’d always preferred tee shirts and jeans – not that there was anything wrong with that – but the cute floral dresses and heels you wore here in this quaint little Kentucky town were dainty and ladylike. Seeing you in such pretty, delicate things was such a stark contrast to your usual attire that it made him see you in a whole new light. Where he’d always tried to treat you as a soldier first and a woman second, this mission blurred the lines.

That being said, Steve had always known how attractive you were. Every now and then, he’d catch the slip of a bra strap, or you’d lean over and your shirt would accidentally reveal far too much cleavage. Other times, the hint of your thong peeked out of the top of your tac pants. Not often.

He tried not to look.

While he very much appreciated your curves, whilst on a mission he usually focused on your beautiful face. He loved to see your eyes light up when you landed a particularly good blow, or when he saved your ass at the last minute. He loved the way you licked your lips before you fell into your preferred boxing stance. He loved the way your hair was mussed in a fight, the excited flush that came over your cheeks, the mischievous look you got when you fought alongside him. He loved _you_. Every part of you. He had for months.

And now, having you here with him in this tiny two bed, one bath safehouse, it was absolutely stifling. You cooked and cleaned and acted every bit the new wife – _his_ wife – you pretended to be. You kept the house tidy for when the nosy southern neighbours came to pop by and welcome the two of you to the neighbourhood. You used your sweet drawl, shared your recipe for the best lemon bars in existence because _darlin’, they’re to die for,_ while Steve searched their homes. The two of you were looking for intel that had been downloaded somewhere in this suburban, one block vicinity, but even Tony’s satellites couldn’t pinpoint the exact location. Steve’s theory was that the satellites were malfunctioning, because he didn’t trust technology. Yours was that whoever downloaded it had a secret underground doomsday shelter.

They were good guesses, but they were wrong.

Your cover was blown when you popped by the corner store for some groceries. Steve often came along in a baseball cap and sunglasses, just to keep an eye on the area while you quickly shopped. The guy in charge of the entire operation just happened to be there on one particular morning, and he’d recognized you both.

What happened next was a rookie mistake.

You’d both noticed them, of course, the two guys trailing you – so you went back to another house, some random residence, to throw them off your trail. It worked.

Around dinnertime, the two of you heard the explosion and, within an hour, it was on the news being blamed on a gas leak. Steve had gone to check out the scene quickly and discreetly. He was much faster than you, and it was much easier for him to get in and out unseen whereas you had been too shaken up to even try. He wanted to do this for you, so that you didn’t worry. He didn’t want you to worry. 

When he returned, his face was grim. Neither of you spoke for the rest of the evening.

Steve woke to the feeling of your soft lips on his bare abdomen. He was a heavy sleeper and it took him a little while to rouse. When he finally did, he found that you’d snuck into his bedroom; you'd pulled back his sheets to press kisses to every inch of his shirtless torso, from his stomach to his chest and neck and he just couldn’t hold back the groan you wrenched from him so easily. 

He took your hands in his, to stop you from doing something you’d regret. He knew what kind of bad decisions you had a tendency to make when you were upset, and he didn’t want to be one of them.

“Wait, wait,” he spoke quickly, hoarsely, barely able to resist your touch, “Talk to me, doll. Please.”

You didn’t.

His cock was rock hard when you straddled him, and he could only protest half-heartedly. He’d been wanting this for so, so long and he loved you and, _fuck,_ he could feel how wet you were through your peach-pink panties, not to mention the way you held your lovely floral dress out of the way drove him crazy.

You laced your fingers with his and leaned down so that your breasts nearly spilled out of the cups of your lacy bra. He caught a well and proper glimpse of it through the unbuttoned front of your dress and, with your lips brushing ever-so-slightly against his, you sighed against his mouth, “Make me forget.”

Steve stopped holding himself back. He made you forget.

And in the morning, he knew he’d done his job well. You were gone. 

* * *

It was anyone’s guess who kept the secret longer.

No strings attached. That was the agreement. You’d made it perfectly clear that first morning, to both of them – when you’d left them to wake up without you, when you left their calls and texts unanswered, when you barely even glanced at them in the hallway at the compound until, in the middle of the night, you got them to make you forget all over again. 

You never got too close. Never spent more than one night at a time. You alternated between them too easily, like you couldn't decide between two ice cream flavours. It was painfully casual and casually painful how easily you disregarded their feelings.

They never discussed it with each other. Not Bucky, because of the guilt he felt for betraying his best friend like this; and not Steve, because he well and truly felt used every single time but it was _you_ and he dealt with it because he loved you. You were a dirty little secret that neither of them would ever admit to.

You didn’t, either. You were too selfish, too broken to do the decent thing and fess up to it. No one knew the extent of your secrets, especially not them.

It continued on like that for weeks.

The only real thing they knew about you was that you got nightmares so terrible that they drove you to use sex as a crutch. In each of their own ways, they tried to help you heal.

Sometimes you went on missions with Bucky and he left bruises on your hips that didn’t go away for a week. The one time he was gentle, you snapped at him, told him that if you wanted gentle then you’d get someone else to fuck you. He wasn’t gentle with you again. Instead, he slapped your ass until it was raw and you were crying, burying your tear-stricken face in a pillow. He hated himself for it.

When you went on missions with Steve, he _was_ gentle. He was devoted to your pleasure, to loving every inch of your body, to making you come at least twice before he did. He liked to whisper sweet nothings into your ear as he made love to you. Eventually, you’d get fed up and kiss him to shut him up. Every now and then, when he said too much, you rode his face until you came.

Weeks turned into months, and your nighttime escapades became more and more frequent. You started sneaking into their beds at the compound almost on the daily. At some point, you stopped caring about getting caught.

You went to Bucky when you wanted punishment. Some nights, your nightmares made you remember that you’d fucked up too many times in your career. You’d gotten people killed. You’d murdered in cold blood. You went to him because he understood your self-loathing. He had lived it.

You went to Steve when you wanted reassurance. Some nightmares made you realize that you’d done as much as you could, but you were useless. You went to him because he liked to whisper those sweet, sweet things into your ear, to tell you that you were perfect and amazing and beautiful. Then you’d get your fill, just far too much of it and he made you feel like you were suffocating. He cared too much.

It all came to a head when the three of you went on a mission together. You’d done it a hundred times, even during this mess of a situation, and still neither of them was any the wiser. They both had their reasons for not saying a thing, and so did you. The fact that the three of you often shared a single room during these missions made it impossible for anything to happen, anyway, even if you wanted it to. Your little lies slipped right through the cracks.

Until one night, they didn’t.

Your nightmare was different this time. Louder. You thrashed. You screamed. You cried.

By the time Steve woke, Bucky was already at your side, gently patting your cheek to wake you up. His quiet whispers were the first sign that something was off. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

Then, when he noticed that Steve was up, Bucky explained far too casually, “She gets nightmares.”

As if Steve didn’t know.

“Yeah,” Steve said uncertainly, slowly coming over to switch on your bedside light. The brightness tended to work pretty well in his experience when he tried to rouse you from your nightmares, and at your soft grumble, he felt a little proud that it had worked.

He missed the unreadable look Bucky shot him for it.

When you cracked your eyes open, all your dazed mind saw was Bucky. He was sitting at your bedside with his warm hand on your cheek, looking at you with concern. He was close. He was there.

He’d make you forget.

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt before you dragged him down to kiss you, your lips moving with the rough familiarity you’d grown used to with him. Your lips were so soft and your mouth was so pliable and as much as he loved the taste of you, he tensed up.

You had an audience.

When you pulled back to look at him, you remembered that fact. Steve was here, too.

Your eyes immediately shot from Bucky to Steve in horror.

Bucky muttered a curse under his breath before he went to finally explain what he’d been doing with you for the last several months – but he didn’t get the chance.

“You’ve been—” Steve started, looking between you and Bucky, not sure who to focus on first. He wasn’t even sure how to finish the sentence. 

You automatically went on the defensive. “Steve, it’s not what it—”

Steve said your name in a tone you’d never heard before. Angry. Upset. “How long?”

You swallowed, throat dry, unable to find an answer. It wasn’t often that your web of lies fell apart.

“Six months,” Bucky answered for you, calmly, but inside he was stunned and hurt that you’d even tried to cover it up to begin with. Fuck, of course you had. You’d always had too many secrets. He was one of them.

When Steve’s face fell at the admission, Bucky wasn’t surprised. Steve had been in love with you for over a year now. It made sense. He felt terrible, because he’d betrayed his friend for – for whatever the hell it was he had with you. Maybe it wasn’t love, not really, but it wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t even comfort. He didn’t know what it was besides a complete fucking mess.

“You’ve been fucking him this whole time?” Steve’s question was hushed, and when you nodded slowly, his voice steadily rose. “The entire time you’ve been fucking me?”

“What?” Bucky was caught entirely off-guard. He looked at you, dumbfounded. “You’ve been _what?”_

You swallowed thickly, putting on a brave façade. You had stopped caring about being caught, but that didn’t mean you wanted to deal with the fallout.

“Why does it matter?” you countered. “No strings attached. You both knew that from the very beginning.”

Steve let out a long, shaky breath. He didn’t get angry often, but even Bucky could tell he was downright pissed.

He was too.

“Do you even hear yourself?” Bucky asked you incredulously. “You—You led us on for _months_ and you expect us to just be okay with that?”

You stared him down, doing your best to keep your features neutral. “Why not?”

The way Bucky said your name made it sound like a curse. “What the hell is _wrong_ with you?” 

“You know what’s wrong with me,” you responded, irritated, crossing your arms over your chest. “Why the fuck else do you think I come to you—”

“And me,” Steve interrupted. The vitriol in his voice didn’t suit him. 

You pressed your lips together in a thin line, glaring daggers at both of them. They knew what the arrangement was. No strings attached. They knew that there was no commitment expected on anyone’s part, and yet, because you’d done exactly that – not committed to either of them – they were angry. They were _jealous_. 

You scoffed. “Don’t tell me you're in love with me.”

It was directed at both of them. The room went so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

The way they were looking at you told you all you needed to know. They had. Of fucking _course_ they had.

“Alright, that’s it,” you announced, stooping to collect your strewn clothing from the floor before you started shoving it, along with your other belongings, into your duffel bag. You’d each packed your own this time, because this mission was long and there were three of you. “I’m done with this.”

“No, you aren’t,” someone snarled from behind you. You didn’t care who.

What you did care about was that the door was slammed shut the moment you opened it. Steve was standing there, his palm pressed firmly against the door. It wouldn't budge. You couldn’t leave.

“Move,” you hissed at him.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “No.”

How petulant.

“Christ, Steve, don’t be a child—”

You were cut off, startled, when a metal arm snaked itself around your front from behind you – between your breasts, to grab your throat. Bucky’s chest was pressed against your back, and his lips were at your ear. “You don't like it when I'm gentle, do you, sweetheart?”

Then Bucky shoved you roughly against the door. It hurt. Your cheek pressed uncomfortably into the wood, but his metal arm was a barrier, keeping from you from being too injured. The fingers of his flesh hand ripped – literally ripped – away your short pajama shorts and your panties, leaving your perfect ass bare and exposed.

When his grip tightened around your throat just a little, you got dizzy. You could still breathe, but he knew exactly where to compress your arteries to make you see spots. 

“Bucky, please,” you choked out, wanting to tell him to stop, that you'd had enough of this, but he shoved one of his hot fingers inside of you and it effectively cut you off. Instead, a strangled moan escaped you at the sudden intrusion. You weren’t too wet, yet, but your body was on fire and it was only a matter of time. You loved it.

A harsh slap to your ass made you wince in pain. That was Steve – sweet, kind Steve who’d always been gentle with you. Not tonight, he wasn’t.

“You lied to us for _months_.” Steve was beyond pissed, but his fingers sweetly slid into your hair until he gripped it in his fist, and you gasped at the sudden sharp pain in your scalp. “And you’re begging for it rough—”

When he slapped your ass again, you whimpered.

“Is that why you fuck him? Because he treats you like this?”

You started to protest, “No—”

But Bucky shoved another finger inside you at your obvious lie, and you squealed.

“Tell him,” Bucky whispered into your ear, biting the shell of it just hard enough that you shivered with delight. “Tell him what you told me, sweetheart. Tell him how much you love it when I’m rough with you.”

“I—” you began, when Bucky hooked his fingers against your g-spot and you leaned back into him with a moan. Cue another slap to your ass that sent you reeling. You were barely able to form a sentence, but you did your best, “I said if I wanted gentle, I wouldn’t have gone to him—”

Steve’s fingers tightened painfully in your hair. “No, that’s what I’m for. Right? Isn't that why you _use me?”_

The way he spat those final words made your core throb.

“Yes,” you moaned. “Yes, I use you. Both of you. I’m sorry.”

They both released you, then, and you crumpled to the ground, legs shaking. It wasn’t that you were scared, no. You were ridiculously turned on by it. You knew how fucked up it was, but you didn’t care. You were selfish.

When you looked up at the two of them from the carpeted floor, you nearly forgot how to breathe. You were familiar with the way Bucky was looking at you, his features hard as he used you as much as you used him – but not Steve. Never Steve.

They were furious, rightfully so, and your apology hadn’t helped at all – not that you expected it to. It wasn’t genuine. You weren’t sorry. Not really. The only thing you were sorry for was getting caught.

It barely registered that you’d been yanked up off the floor until your back hit the sheets.

The tip of Bucky’s cock was at your lips, and you opened your mouth for him without a second thought. The way he shoved himself down your throat was brutal. It was a punishment. You coughed and gagged, but he didn’t relent, even when tears prickled at the corners of your eyes. You hated how much you loved it.

What made it a little more bearable was when Steve started to devour you. He didn’t use the sweet, gentle kitten licks like you’d grown used to with him. He didn’t whisper words of praise. Instead, he ate you out with a fervour you’d never seen from him; desperate, as if to prove that he could do it for you, too. He forcefully held your hips down to prevent you from pulling away, and as he suckled your clit, he slid two fingers deep inside you, causing your back to arch into his touch.

He left bruises. Steve _never_ left bruises.

You came in seconds, not even able to moan, let alone breathe around Bucky’s thick cock. They could still tell. They recognized the way your fingers curled in the sheets, the way your thighs shook under Steve’s strong hands.

As you came down from your high, you didn’t miss the look they exchanged – as if they were trying to figure out who should fuck you first. It stoked the fire within you that, just a moment ago, had nearly been snuffed out by Steve’s talented mouth. Now it was back in full force.

Bucky was the first to relent, to offer you up to his best friend like you were an object. It made Steve grit his teeth. He didn’t want pity.

He accepted anyway.

Steve manhandled you in a way he’d never done. He was beyond caring. If you wanted it rough, then that was what he’d give you. His cock was larger than average, and he knew it, too; he'd always warmed you up for it, used his fingers to stretch you out, prepare you. Not this time.

His tight grip on your hips left more bruises as he dragged you to your knees. You were soaked for him, absolutely dripping, and he slid inside way too easily. You gasped and buried your face in the sheets, thoroughly humiliated by the entire ordeal. You couldn’t meet their eyes. You were ashamed. For what, you weren’t entirely sure.

His other hand in your hair yanked your head back and away from the sheets, brought you closer to his body.

“Look at him,” Steve demanded. When you didn’t listen, he slapped your ass again, way too hard, and you shuddered at the excruciating pleasure. “Watch him while I fuck you, doll.”

 _Doll_. That was the only semblance of sweetness you’d get from him tonight.

You finally did as you were told, obediently cracking open your eyes to meet Bucky’s. The look on his face was dark and mystified as he knelt on the bed, sitting back on his heels, his hand wrapped around his spit-slickened cock as he took in the sight of you being thoroughly used by someone other than him.

“Fuck, Steve,” you whined. “Let me touch him. _Please_.”

There was a certain desperation in your voice that neither of them had heard from you before.

Steve released your hair and shoved you forward, then, to let you do what you so desperately wanted to. You lay flat on your stomach, Steve’s hands spreading your ass just enough for him to watch himself disappear again into your slick heat. He had to focus on that, not on the fact that your hands were on someone else. It hurt too much.

That didn’t last long. 

Bucky took in a sharp breath the moment your lips wrapped around him again. Awful as it was to see you with someone else, it was also hot as hell and he knew something was wrong with him to think so. Those thoughts disappeared the second you willingly took him – all of him – down your throat. He didn’t need to force it down this time.

“Jesus,” Steve breathed, unable to look away from the two of you. The way you went down on Bucky wasn’t anything like he’d ever seen. It was hot and messy, with wet, sloppy sounds and choked gasps as you worshipped Bucky's cock at the same time Steve fucked you so brutally.

After one particularly harsh thrust that sent Bucky’s cock all the way down your throat again, Steve pulled himself from you. He didn’t have to say a thing; Bucky already knew.

Your body was shifted and you were moved around like a sex doll, an object, into whatever position they wanted you in. Your back was on the sheets again, now, as Bucky hooked his arms around your thighs to pull you to him. His first idea was to shove himself inside you, but then he saw how red and swollen and glistening your perfect cunt was from Steve's brutal treatment and he couldn’t help but lick a long stripe from slit to clit, making you shudder and writhe under him. You tasted good. You _always_ tasted good, even now.

The stubble on Bucky’s face burned your thighs as he savoured you, pulled gasps and whines and moans from you that made him want you even more. When they became muffled, however, he peered up from in between your legs to see that Steve was kissing you, all teeth and tongues and he damn near blew his load at the sight.

Instead, Bucky finally buried himself inside you all the way to the hilt in one single motion. You didn’t need any further preparation, but there was still a slight burn from the stretch. He was thicker than Steve; not much, and you only noticed from having the two of them in such rapid succession.

You broke away from Steve's mouth to hiss, “Shit, Bucky!”

Hearing his name on your lips made him swell with pride.

He didn’t get to hear it again, because Steve used his now-familiar grip on your hair to force your mouth down onto his cock. He made you taste yourself, but you readily complied, using your hands and your mouth in the same messy, sloppy fashion that he'd so admired. It made Steve's toes curl.

It was like your roles had been reversed, almost. Steve was rough with you tonight. Bucky was gentle – or at least some semblance of it.

Bucky’s flesh hand held your waist, keeping you in place, but he didn’t leave bruises. He didn’t want to. Steve had already left plenty. The fingertips of his metal hand trailed slowly, teasingly from your neck, to your breasts and nipples, to your navel, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When the chill of his metal thumb met your clit, you let out a choked sound around Steve’s cock that brought him closer to the edge. Both of them.

Bucky’s thrusts became a little more frantic as he chased his release. There was something about the feeling of it, knowing you were being completely used by them, for their pleasure only, that kept you on the brink for what felt like hours. When Steve’s cock throbbed in your hands, you knew that he was close, too.

“God, sweetheart,” Bucky groaned as your walls fluttered around him. He knew the feeling all too well. You were nearly there. Being treated so roughly like this – even if he wasn’t the one doing it this time – was going to get you off like the masochist you’d always been for him. “You gonna come for us?”

A muffled moan was all you could manage with Steve so far down your throat.

“Christ, she’s so—” Steve started to say, but one particularly hard suck made him buck his hips into your mouth. “So _good._ ”

Bucky couldn’t help but grip your hips harder, then. It was almost ingrained at this point for him to slam into you, to make the bed creak and almost break under his strength. Your body absorbed it all until the coil finally broke within you, and you pulled your mouth off of Steve to let out a sharp, strangled, unintelligible cry. The pleasure cascaded over you in waves as you rode out what was probably the best orgasm of your life, your fingers tightly squeezing Steve’s cock with each wave.

Bucky was next. He was babbling things – breathy whispers of your name, saying what a good girl you were, how good you’d been for him and Steve, how you'd taken them both so well, how much he needed to fill you up. In a hoarse, sexy voice you egged him on, rolling your hips in the exact way you knew he loved until he shoved himself as deep as he could go, spilling hot inside you, marking your insides like a brand.

It was in that moment that you took Steve back into your hands. You spit on his cock – dirty, nasty, _wet_ – before you took him back into your mouth, your hands cupping his balls, your tongue licking every single inch of him. It was so sudden and he played into your hands like putty, his hips stuttering as he was brought to the edge—

Then you pulled off of him again, skillfully pumping his cock in your hand, resting the head of it on your tongue as you looked up at him through your lashes. The look on your face, so absolutely wanton and slutty and unlike anything he’d ever seen from you was what did him in – and when you begged him so desperately, “Come for me, Stevie,” he actually saw stars. 

The sounds he made were like nothing he’d ever made before, sounds that didn’t even register in his brain and he said things to you that he’d never said aloud. “Love you,” he gasped, “Love you so fuckin’ much.” 

Hot ropes of his cum painted your lips and your tongue before you took him into your mouth again, where you quite literally sucked the life out of him. You milked him dry. He’d been on his knees, but his legs shook and then actually gave out, making him fall back onto his heels and you – you greedily chased every fucking drop.

As you slowly regained your breath, the three of you collapsed onto the bed, the sheets a tangled mess beneath you. You lay on your stomach in between the two of them. Bucky was splayed out on his back, warily allowing you to rest your head on his arm and Steve was laying on your other side, facing you, with one of your legs draped casually over his.

It wasn’t aftercare. It was exhaustion.

When the silence became too much for you to bear, you said quietly, “I’ll request a transfer.”

They both shifted to look at you. It wasn't a true apology, but it was the best they'd get.

Bucky’s eyes were soft, and he resisted the urge to reach out and stroke your cheek, to whisper that he wanted you to stay.

Quite the opposite, Steve looked alarmed, like he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you even now which was insane considering, well – everything. You were toxic. That unspoken truth lingered in the air.

“No,” he rasped, sliding his arm over your lower back.

It wasn’t aftercare. It was possessive. 

That only seemed to solidify Bucky’s resolve, and he gently brought your head closer, more into the crook of his arm and shoulder. When he buried his face in your sweaty hair, Steve stroked the bruised, tender skin on your hips.

 _That_ was aftercare.

You were toxic, but you were theirs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was _supposed_ to be a one-shot but, uh, my hand slipped 🤷

Steve was the first to wake.

It wasn’t unusual. He usually was. He always liked to go for a morning run in the soft twilight just before sunrise, and his mental alarm clock never failed him, not even on a mission. Not even when he – and Bucky – had quite literally fucked the hell out of you the night before.

The memory made him grit his teeth. It wasn’t a pleasant one. He was surprised he’d been able to sleep at all.

You’d been screwing them both for _six months_ in secret, and you hadn’t found it appropriate to share that little fact with either of them. No strings attached. That was what you’d told them, and the moment you realized that it was more than just that – not just for him, but for Bucky, too – you tried to leave all over again. Just like you always did.

Steve hadn’t let you leave this time. Neither had Bucky.

The tender marks on your hips were the evidence of that. Steve had been so angry, so upset, so desperate to make you want _him,_ not Bucky, that he’d been way too rough with you. He’d marred your soft, smooth, otherwise unblemished skin with dark bruises. He felt guilty. 

Now, in the early hours of the morning, your small body was curled up in between the two of them. You liked to sleep on your stomach, always had – but right now, you were on your side, facing away from him. Your head was resting on Bucky’s chest, his fingers buried tenderly in your hair. You were both still fast asleep.

It made Steve feel like he’d seen something he shouldn’t have, something intimate, sacred. It made him feel like he was an intruder.

Even still, he couldn’t help but shift closer to you. He pulled your naked back against his chest and wrapped his arm around your middle to just _hold_ you. For a moment, he could pretend that it was just the two of you.

Just for a moment.

His lips ghosted the skin at the junction of your neck and shoulder. The smell of your hair was sweet, familiar: sweat and shampoo. He caught the scent every now and then when the two of you were in the middle of a fight, or when you’d just showered, but he always noticed it when he made love to you. You always smelled so fucking _good_ to him and he hated how much he loved it. 

He hated that he loved _you_ , with all of your lies, your deceit, your talented mouth and tongue and, _god,_ if only you’d just come to him, he’d have given you everything, even the moon. He’d have given you every single part of him for as long as you wanted it. 

But you didn’t want it. Any of it. You’d made that painfully clear.

Instead of his regular morning jog, Steve went back to sleep. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts on these dark, quiet, unfamiliar streets. Instead, he wanted to soak up as much time with you as he possibly could before you inevitably disappeared in the morning.

Some small part of him hoped that you wouldn’t.

The rest of him knew that you would.

* * *

Bucky was the next to rouse.

It was still early. The muted sunlight was just starting to stream in through the sheer white curtains covering the small apartment’s single window. It was around eight o’clock, maybe, judging by the angle of the rays sprawling across the blanket. Not that he particularly cared.

He'd been here once before with you, at this very same safehouse, nearly two years ago. The two of you hadn’t had to stay in a dingy motel for once because you’d swiped the keys to the apartment from HQ. It was a kindness he rarely saw from you; self-serving, definitely, but a kindness nonetheless. You’d been thrilled at the idea of something a little more upscale than the threadbare sheets and terrible water pressure the two of you were normally subjected to. He’d been thrilled at the idea of spending a little extra time with you.

That wasn’t to say it was perfect, though, because it wasn’t. The studio apartment was small and cramped. The kitchenette was functional, but hardly – not much counter space, and the refrigerator was just large enough for a couple days’ worth of groceries. Not much living space, either. Instead, there was a queen-sized bed in the middle of the room and a small sofa against one of the walls. No television. A couple of air mattresses were stowed away in the closet to allow for multiple people, if required.

The small apartment clearly wasn’t used for more than one person very often. The first time the two of you came here, Bucky had offered you the bed, because of course he did. He’d slept on far worse than a stiff sofa. The way you’d smiled at him at his offer made him feel a spark that he’d never felt before. It might have been the moment he started to fall for you. 

Things were much, much different when the three of you arrived here just a couple of nights ago. You’d just automatically placed your bag down on the bed. Neither of them got the chance to offer it to you, but you didn’t even ask. You didn’t need to, because you already knew what they’d say. You’d been working together for years at this point.

At the time, it hadn’t bothered him. He’d have given you the world if you asked for it – but now, looking back on it, on all the times you’d done such similarly selfish things, it got under his skin. 

You _used_ him. You used _them_ , and you were damn good at it, too. You’d fooled them for so long with whatever the hell this fucked up situation even was. You’d been sleeping with him – them – both of them, for months. Six fucking months, and you hadn’t even had the decency to fess up to it.

Why?

Bucky was rough with you in bed. Too rough, if he was honest with himself but you loved it and all he wanted to do was please you. You’d asked him to treat you that way. Begged him to.

You must have known that he’d treat you however you wanted him to. All you had to do was ask. If you wanted it gentle, you could have asked. You could have asked him for anything.

Sometimes, he wanted to be gentle with you. The only time he tried, he’d needed it too, even more than you; he really needed some sweetness and care and _love_ after a particularly rough mission, and you’d spat at him so nastily, told him that you’d fuck someone else if he wasn’t up to the task. That had hurt him in a way that he’d never been hurt before.

It was an achievement, really, because over the years he’d been hurt in an insurmountable number of ways, but not like that. Never like that.

At first, he’d assumed it was because you just didn’t like it gentle, but he always wondered. He’d never been able to figure out why until last night.

It was because, if you wanted to be treated gently, sweetly, tenderly, you went to Steve. You used Bucky when you wanted punishment, and when he’d done his job and boy, did he do it well – when he’d broken you just like you begged him to, it was Steve who picked up the pieces and kissed every inch of you back together.

You were toxic. Not just to him, but to both of them. You were poison.

He hated it. He wished he could hate you, too, but he couldn’t. 

You shifted slightly in your sleep, then, buried your face just a little more into his chest. Every single muscle in his body tensed at the action. He didn’t want to feel your soft body against him. He didn’t want to remember how affectionate you could be. He didn’t want to see your face, because if he did, then he knew his heart would break.

He looked down at you anyway.

You were sleeping so peacefully despite everything that had happened the night before. He couldn’t help but thread his fingers through your hair and press a loving kiss to your forehead, because you looked so sweet like this, so defenseless, so perfect in his arms. When he gently pulled your hand to him and draped it over his chest – god, he wanted to feel your touch even now – he finally noticed that Steve was behind you, spooning you, fast asleep.

The sight caught him off-guard. He’d known Steve would be there, of course, but it set him off to see his best friend’s arm wrapped so securely around your waist. It was a brutal reminder that you weren’t his. You weren’t either of theirs. Not really.

Steve wasn’t the type to sleep in. He never had been. It was rare to see him still in bed when the sun was out. This situation clearly bothered him, too, more than he let on.

Maybe Bucky would sleep a little more, too. Your warmth was intoxicating, and the sweet smell of you wafted over him as he drifted off again. As fucked up as everything had become, he didn’t want it to end. Not yet.

* * *

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that, when they both woke up again, you were gone. Of course you were. For some stupid reason, Steve and Bucky had hoped in their own different ways that you would stay this time, but you didn’t.

You never stayed.

You never got too close.

The silence was absolutely stifling as the two of them packed up their belongings. Your bag and weapons were already gone. The mission was over. The only thing they had left of you was the faint scent of you on their skin. 

Neither of them knew what to say. It was clear that they both harboured feelings for you, and that they’d both been completely blindsided by what you’d done to them.

At one point, Bucky tried to start the conversation. It was the first thing either of them said all day. His voice was quiet, hesitant, when he spoke, “Shouldn’t we talk about—”

“No.”

Steve said the word with such finality that he didn’t try again. This wasn’t something that just a simple conversation could fix, if it could even be fixed at all.

When they got back to the compound mid-afternoon, you were already gone. True to your word, the moment you’d gotten back after the mission, you’d requested a transfer to a different location. It only took a couple of minutes for them to find out that you’d been transferred to a branch in London. _London._ You couldn't have just gone to a different branch, like DC or California, you went to an entirely different _continent_. It was a message meant only for them. 

You were well and truly leaving them behind.

Steve took one long look at your now depersonalized bedroom and immediately stormed down the hallway, straight to the gym, where he destroyed more than a couple of punching bags. He was angry. He was hurt. Worst of all, his heart was in pieces and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. You weren’t here to put him back together like he’d done so many times for you. You were gone.

Bucky, on the other hand, lingered for a little while. Your furniture was the same, but the mattress was stripped bare and the closet was empty. The room still faintly smelled like you. His fingers trailed absently along the top of your dresser, where you used to keep a mirrored tray for trinkets and jewellery. Not a single thing remained. In some warped way, to him, that was a good sign; he’d given you something once, too, a woven bracelet from Wakanda that you never wore but always kept on display. Some small part of him hoped that you’d taken it with you, along with the rest – along with his heart.

Neither Steve nor Bucky broached the topic of you again for the sake of their friendship.

You were, and would always remain, their dirty little secret.

* * *

Neither of them tried to call or text you again - except once, and only once, each.

Steve called you in a moment of weakness, about three weeks after you left.

Tony had thrown yet another stupid party, and Thor had brought along some Asgardian mead, the only type of alcohol that actually seemed to affect Steve with his enhanced metabolism. He drank a little too much when he found out that that you weren’t coming, despite the invitation he knew you would have received. Everyone had gotten one. It made sense, though. You were too far away.

You’d chosen not to go because it was too much of a hassle, and, aside from the fact that you were exhausted, you were also across the pond in London. You weren’t going to fly back to the States for just one night, especially if they were going to be there.

You didn’t need it.

You didn’t need them.

The shrill ringing of your cell phone was what pulled you from your slumber. You swiped it open without even looking at the screen, answering with a sleepy mutter of your last name: your standard greeting.

“Shit, did I wake you?”

Steve didn’t even know where you were anymore. You were stationed in England, obviously, but he wasn’t sure if you were on a mission in another country. At the very least, he should have remembered that you were in a different time zone, but he was kicking himself for not really thinking it through. His thoughts were always a jumbled mess when it came to you, and the alcohol wasn't helping.

At the sound of Steve’s voice, you felt more relaxed than you had in weeks. You could hear the music and laughter from the party in the background, the party you'd purposely not attended. 

“It’s okay,” you mumbled sleepily, the sound sweet honey to his ears. “What is it, Stevie?”

His nickname slipped too easily off your tongue, and it left a long, uncomfortable pause in the conversation. It was a gentle, tender familiarity that you only used for him in bed. Outside of it, you always called him Captain, or Rogers, or both. Never his first name, and especially not his nickname. Not unless he was making love to you like he’d done so many times in the past.

Hearing it again made his heart and his cock ache all at once. 

Steve hesitantly broke the tense silence with something he’d been dying to say for weeks. His voice was soft, almost inaudible, full of longing – not just for your body, but for you. Every part of you, despite everything you'd done. 

“I miss you, doll.”

You didn’t respond.

Not that he had expected you to, of course. More than that, he just wanted to get it off of his chest, selfish as it was but after everything you’d pulled, he was allowed to be selfish. What he really wanted to say more was that he loved you, but he kept that buried deep, deep down. If he said it out loud again, it would destroy him.

You knew what he really meant. You weren’t stupid. 

“You’ve been drinking, Captain,” you told him, your tone suddenly sharp and firm and entirely too level. “I think you need to go sleep it off.”

Steve swallowed thickly at your obvious rejection. He wasn’t really sure what he thought he’d achieve from this. You’d always kept him at arm’s length, and that clearly wasn’t going to change. You’d gotten all you wanted from him. You’d used him, and now you were done.

“Yeah,” he whispered, letting out a quiet, shaky breath. “Yeah. Okay.”

Far too many unspoken words lingered in the air, but all you said was, “Goodnight, Captain.”

“Goodnight,” he began, but his voice cracked slightly when he added, “Agent.”

When he heard the click of you ending the phone call, he pulled the device from his ear to see your smiling face looking right back at him. It was the contact photo you’d set for yourself in his phone a long, long time ago.

Tears blurred his vision and rolled down his cheeks, but he didn’t even notice until they dripped onto the screen, distorting your perfect smile into something that was anything but.

The photo was a selfie of the two of you way before, well, everything. You and Steve were on a beach in Italy during a couple days of downtime in between missions. Because your next one was also going to be in Europe, somewhere, you’d suggested a quick detour to Tuscany while you waited for the mission details to come through.

That quick, spontaneous trip had become one of his favourite memories.

The bikini you wore that day was striped black and white, and a black sarong hung snugly around your hips. On your head was a floppy, wide-brimmed hat, and for a better part of the day you’d kept your eyes covered with a pair of large sunglasses. You’d taken them off for the photo, though, and hooked them in your cleavage. At the time, he’d tried not to look.

Your lips were a glossy peach pink, and in your hand was an ice cream cone, melted vanilla dribbling down the back of your hand. You didn’t care at all. As you held the dripping cone, he noticed that you’d painted your fingernails the prettiest shade of cornflower blue.

You always looked good in pastels, and florals, too – but you were anything but delicate. They didn’t suit you, not really. You looked best in a rich, vibrant red. That, at least, matched your personality, not the sweet façade you’d managed to perfect over the years.

In the photo, you looked so happy with his arm slung casually around your shoulders. Carefree. Beautiful. Nothing like the person you’d become – or maybe that was who you always were, but he’d just been too blind to see it, too enamoured with what he’d foolishly thought was mutual attraction. 

As you stared at the same photo on your screen in London, you thought that he looked happy, too.

* * *

It took much longer for Bucky to gather the nerve to contact you: nearly two months, but he’d been struggling since the day you left. 

He missed the friendly banter between the two of you that had developed over the last couple of years you worked together. He missed sparring with you, having meals with you, watching movies and sharing hair-ties and just being downright fucking _domestic_ with you. He loved it. Every single second of it.

You taught him how to do his laundry once, how to sort his clothes so that his white shirts didn’t end up pink. And now, every time he separated his whites and darks and colours, he thought of you. It was a weekly chore that stung far more than it should have.

He’d never experienced anything like what the two of you shared, and now that you were gone, it felt like a part of him was gone, too. 

It wasn’t just the small things that he missed. Even before the mess, it was like you always knew what to say when he struggled with his past, with his memories. You’d whisper sweet, tender things into his ear that only a lover would say. He took comfort in your warmth, especially when you held his head to your chest so that he could listen and relax to the sound of your steady heartbeat.

Well before that rainy night in Romania, the two of you had accidentally developed a habit of touching each other. Most of the time, it wasn’t sexual. Sometimes you’d pull his arm around your shoulders when the two of you watched TV, or you’d throw your feet into his lap and he’d massage your legs without even needing to be asked. Other times, he’d lay his head on your lap and you’d absentmindedly stroke his hair while you read a book; or he’d lead you by the hand to show you something he thought you might like. A new piece of gym equipment. A potted plant he’d somehow managed to keep alive. A nice sunset.

All he knew for sure was that your gentle, warm touch had soothed his troubled mind more than anything else ever could. And then, when he made love to you that first night – and it was exactly that, pure, unbridled _love_ , not just sex, not a simple fuck – he’d fallen for you hook, line, and sinker. Fully. Entirely. With every single fibre of his being.

This night, however, was a particularly bad one. It was raining again. Bucky hated the rain. It reminded him of the way you’d slid into his bed so easily that night, how you’d touched him and wrapped your legs around him and moaned his name as he kissed and caressed and loved every fucking inch of your flawless body.

He knew you were somewhere in Europe. Not exactly where, but it was enough for him to hazard a guess as to the time of day. It was about three in the morning here in New York, so wherever you were, it was daytime. There wasn’t a better time to send you a text.

It took him a few tries to word it right.

 _Miss you._ That was too clingy.

 _Need you._ That was even worse.

You wouldn’t want to hear what he was really feeling, anyway. You’d made it crystal clear that you didn’t want to know. If you did, you wouldn’t have left. You wouldn’t have ignored so many of his calls and texts the entire time the two of you were together. You would have talked to him. You would have _cared._

Bucky finally settled on something else entirely.

_Come back soon so I can bury my face in between those pretty thighs._

He hated himself for it. You’d used him for that exact reason, used him to get off, to distract yourself from whatever horrors plagued you, but it was the only thing he could think of that might actually get a response.

It didn’t.

He hated that even more.


	3. Chapter 3

_November 2015_

Winter in Iceland was an extraordinarily harsh, biting cold. The bitter chill in the wind sank deep into Bucky’s bones, but he knew it well. He’d acclimated to the freezing weather in Siberia, not to mention the many years he’d spent in cryo, but your small body didn’t handle it nearly as well.

The two of you were inside a small cabin in the mountains with double-glazed windows and a fireplace. One of the locals kept it for travellers and tourists. The two of you were neither, but you’d been given the keys all the same.

Despite the many layers you wore for this mission, you were still shivering from the cold. The moment he went to offer you his jacket, the slightest hint of tenderness, you shot him a look as if to say: 

_Keep your distance, Barnes. Know your place._

He did know his place, and it wasn’t to be gentle with you. It was the opposite. The fact that you wouldn’t even let him help warm you up was evidence enough. You didn’t want any affection from him. You never wanted it. You only wanted to be hurt, punished for reasons he didn’t know.

What Bucky did know was that you hated yourself. If he could relieve you of some of that loathing, even just a fraction – soothe your troubled mind and whatever worries ailed you – then he was more than willing to do that for you. He was willing to do anything for you. 

He tended to the fire while you changed out of your wet clothes in the only bedroom. It didn’t matter that there was only one bed. You’d been sleeping together off and on for about a month, now.

You slowly stripped off your soaked clothing, covered in fresh snow, and lay it all out to dry. Inside your duffel bag was a tangled mess of clothing to dig through: your shirts and tac pants and socks and underwear were all mixed up with Bucky’s, but it didn’t matter. You were used to sharing a duffel with him, because it made things just a little easier having one less bag to lug around.

You had your own clothes, but you’d always liked Bucky’s long-sleeved henleys. They were soft and warm and you pulled one on. You didn’t ask. He wouldn’t care. Whatever was his was yours, an unspoken truth that neither of you would ever admit.

You brought the sleeve at your wrist to your nose and inhaled. It smelled just like him, like spice and pine and snow. To you, he smelled like home. It was fleeting thought that you immediately discarded.

After you pulled on a fresh pair of underwear and some sweatpants and socks, too, you made your way back to the den where a half-full bottle of whiskey was sitting on the coffee table. Next to it was a single glass, already filled to the brim. Bucky had poured it for you.

He was staring into the fire, lost in thought, slowly rolling his own glass back and forth in between his fingertips. If it was anyone but him, you’d have assumed that he hadn’t heard you arrive, but you knew that he had when his fingers stilled.

“You don’t like it, do you?” you asked softly, sitting down next to him on the sofa. Your thigh brushed against his, and your hand was a gentle comfort on his shoulder, one he leaned into just a little.

When he glanced over at you, about to ask what you meant, the words caught in his throat. He didn’t need to ask. You already knew. You _always_ knew. He hated coming to such cold, frigid places because it reminded him of his past. It reminded him of things he didn’t want to remember. Hydra. Torture. Death.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he took a drag of whiskey.

“This isn’t Siberia,” you reassured him, sliding your hand from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, where your fingers gently smoothed away a few sweaty strands of hair sticking to his skin. “It wasn’t you.” 

Bucky slowly took in every single feature on your face – from your forehead, to your perfect brows, to your soft lips – but he focused primarily your eyes, those gorgeous, sparkling eyes that read him like a book. Sometimes, he felt like you knew him better than he did. Other times, he was made well aware that you didn’t.

“I know,” he responded, gently bringing your hand down from his neck so that he could press a kiss to your palm. Your skin was so soft and warm against his chapped lips and it was in that moment that he realized how lost he would be without you.

God, he loved you. Every single part of you. Even the part that used him so easily.

You used him, but he let you. He liked to think that he used you, too, but that was a lie.

When you slowly pulled your hand back to your lap and away from his affection, he knew you’d done it purposely, as if to make the same point you always made.

_Know your place._

He wasn’t allowed to get too close, but he did. He always did. You brought his walls down so easily, and then you blamed him for letting them down to begin with. As if he had a choice. As if he had any choice at all not to fall in love with you so much that it threatened to consume him.

When Bucky polished off the rest of the glass, the alcohol burned his tongue and throat – burned away the words he so desperately wanted to say.

* * *

The evening came and went. The two of you shared a dinner of military rations, tasteless and bland. He didn’t have much of an appetite. Neither did you. You both forced it down anyway.

While the whiskey took the edge off and you talked with him some, conversation was minimal, just a few short exchanges of words. You asked whether he’d reloaded his rifle and if he was running low on ammo. He had, and he wasn’t, and he casually reminded you to clean your Beretta because that particular model had a habit of jamming in such cold temperatures.

He was, of course, well aware that you knew your way around your weapons and he half-expected you to bristle at the implication that you didn’t. He might have even wanted you to, just a little, because he wanted to know that you could feel something, anything, anything at all.

But you didn’t. You took your handgun apart right there on the coffee table, just for him. You cleaned and polished every piece so thoroughly that by the time you were done, the two of you had finished off the bottle of whiskey. 

He went to bed sometime after ten, left you on the sofa, focused intently on the screen of your tablet as you wrote up some mission notes.

He didn’t tell you he was going to bed.

You didn’t bid him goodnight.

* * *

Sometime after one, Bucky woke to the sound of silence.

You weren’t in bed with him. He didn’t really expect you to be. You slept together off and on – literally and figuratively – but sometimes you purposely took another bed as if to remind him that it was nothing more than a casual arrangement. You never let him get too close.

This was one of those nights. There wasn’t another bed, but there was a couch in the living room. He’d left you there earlier, and he figured you’d probably fallen asleep there, too.

The only light in the darkness came from the full moon. He made his way from the bedroom back to where he thought you were. It was pointless, really; he knew you’d be nearby, but he still wanted to know that you were still there.

The fire had gone out at some point. You’d told him that you’d tend to it, but you hadn’t.

You weren’t on the sofa. You weren’t in the living room at all.

When he spotted you out on the balcony, the sight chilled him to the bone.

It was a steep drop off the side of the mountain. The valley dipped low into a frozen river, and the tall trees were covered in snow, glistening in the moonlight. While the view would normally be breathtaking, not tonight it wasn’t.

You were leaning over the railing just a little too far.

The only thing you were wearing now was his red henley – no jacket, no sweatpants, no socks or shoes. The way you were leaning over, on your tiptoes, offered him a peek of your black panties, something he normally would have enjoyed but all he felt was dread. There was no doubt in his mind that you must have been freezing, but for some reason the cold didn’t seem to be bothering you at all.

You were more focused on whatever was so interesting out there in the darkness. All he could see was the forest.

The crunch of his boots in the fresh snow made your spine straighten, and you swiftly pulled yourself back. It was almost like he’d caught you just before you did something stupid.

You wouldn’t.

Would you?

“Hey, doll,” he said softly, placing his warm hand on your ice-cold shoulder. You’d been outside for far too long judging by the chill on your skin, but you weren’t shivering like you had been earlier. “Why don’t you come back inside?”

For once, you didn’t argue with him. Instead, he led you back inside in what was a particularly unsettling silence. Your breathing was too steady, too even for what you’d just been doing. The fire was out, but it was still much warmer inside than out and he hoped that it would help bring you back to a normal temperature.

Bucky sat you down on the sofa and wrapped a thick blanket around you.

You didn’t say a word - didn’t want to talk. That much was obvious. He’d seen you upset before, seen how you processed horrors and death plenty of times, but this wasn’t that. It was different. Worse. He didn’t know what had caused it, but it must have been something bad.

He didn’t pry.

You didn’t even notice when he pressed a hot mug of tea into your hands. Only when he helped you bring the brim to your mouth and you instinctively took a sip did you finally realize that it was there. The familiar taste of warm black tea with just a hint of cream and sugar melted on your tongue. He made it just the way you liked.

You didn’t thank him.

Bucky wrapped his arm around your shoulders, and for once, you didn’t pull away. You let him hold you - only for a little while, only until your tea was gone and along with it, your rare moment of weakness.

When you’d had enough, you didn’t say a thing, just shrugged off his arm and went back to your tablet to finish up the rest of your notes. It was almost like you’d just taken a quick tea break.

Bucky took that as a sign to leave you alone again. He didn’t particularly trust you to be by yourself, but he knew that you didn’t want his company anymore. Not tonight.

Right before he went back to bed, he stopped just short of kissing your forehead. His lips just barely ghosted against your skin. You allowed it.

He found it difficult to get back to sleep, but at some point, he managed.

You spent another hour trying to type out a single phrase – ‘mission report’ – but the only thing you could focus on were the horrors of your past.

* * *

Half past four, Bucky woke to the feeling of your lips around his cock. A soft groan escaped him from it, at the knowledge that you’d been working downright magic on his body before he’d even woken up. Your perfect mouth was wet and so, so hot, and your tongue slid around him so expertly – let alone the way your perfect hands worked every inch of him. You knew his body so fucking well and it drove him insane.

He took in a sharp breath, his head lulling back as his fingers slid into your hair. He didn’t need to grip hard, or even assert dominance; you just felt so fucking _good_ and he needed to touch you, needed the slightest bit of intimacy in knowing that you were still right there after what he’d witnessed on the balcony. 

You pulled back enough to lick every inch of him, and then you took him all the way down your throat which ripped another groan from him. “Jesus, sweetheart—” 

You responded with a particularly hard suck that sent him reeling. In his dazed, half-asleep state, he couldn’t hold back anymore and spilled into your mouth, gasping, painting your lips and tongue with hot ropes of his cum.

He looked down at you with half-lidded eyes and watched as you licked up every fucking drop like the goddess you were. And, to him, you _were_ a goddess. He’d happily worship you every day if you’d let him – but you didn’t. Not even when you’d been on the brink of something so dangerous tonight.

As you straddled his hips, he reached up for you, pulled your head down for a kiss. It was sloppy, full of passion and desire and anything he could ever want from you – except the one thing he wanted most.

He rolled the two of you over, then, so that you were on your back, staring up at him with those gorgeous eyes that seemed to see right into his soul. Your hair was sprawled out around your head like a halo, but you were anything but an angel and a few strands of it were caught on your lips. He brushed them away with the pad of his thumb before he leaned in to kiss you again. 

With you under him like this, letting him touch every inch of you, he particularly relished in the feeling of your breasts – so soft and perfectly moulded to his hands. His hand slid down your side to pull one of your legs around his waist, and he slid inside you far too easily. You were absolutely soaked for him, slick and hot and _wanting._

The moment he was completely inside you, you whined against his mouth. He swallowed the sound as he kissed you gently, leisurely, like the two of you had all the time in the world to experience this. It wasn’t just plain fucking, not this time. He was making love to you – sweet, gentle love like he so desperately needed right now. The bitter cold here was just like Siberia and it brought back memories that only you could make him forget, just like he always did for you.

His hips rocked into yours and you writhed under his body, moaning his name, tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling him down for another kiss, another touch. He whispered into your ear sweet words of praise, told you how good you were for him, how you took him so well and _god_ he needed this, needed _you_ —

And then you shoved him off of you so quickly that it blindsided him. You didn’t have super strength or serum or any other ability other than your brevity of wit. He weighed at least twice as much as you, but your small hands had pushed him away like he was nothing. 

To you, he _was_ nothing.

“Don’t do that, Bucky,” you hissed at him in a way that almost made his heart still in his chest.

It was another brutal reminder:

_Don’t get too close._

Every part of him wanted to cry out in protest. He _wanted_ to be close to you. He wanted to be gentle. He wanted to love you, but you wouldn’t let him.

“Why?” was all he could manage to ask, and even on just that single word his voice still wavered.

“If you won’t _fuck_ me,” you spat, like pure acid, “Then I’ll find someone else to do it. It’ll be easy.”

Those words shattered something inside of him. You didn’t _do_ gentle. He knew that. You never did, and yet you’d been so receptive until he got too close once again, said something stupid, said he _needed_ you like the fool he was. He needed you, but you didn’t need him. You never did. You never would – even when he’d seen you so broken earlier tonight. Even when you were just as broken as him.

He wasn’t proud of the bitter, angry way he reacted to your nasty words. His fingers curled around your hips, and he yanked you up and threw you onto your knees. He hated how easily your skin bruised so easily under his fingertips. He hated how much you loved that it did. 

The way he shoved himself inside of you with no warning was brutal and punishing. He wanted to stop at your hiss of pain, but he didn’t. He pushed through it and made you take every thick inch of him because that was what you wanted. You wanted to scream and cry, and he made you do that, too. You begged him to punish you, spank you, ruin you, break you – and he did.

He slapped your ass until it was raw and red and hot tears were streaming down your face. He pulled you back by your hair and bit your neck, your shoulder, left bruises there, too – until he couldn’t bear to hear another sob and he shoved your face down into the pillow. He ordered you to shut your god damn mouth, and you thanked him for it. In between your gasps and sobs and cries, you fucking _thanked_ him. 

This was what you wanted. You wanted it rough. You wanted to be punished.

You never told him why.

After you’d come three times from being used so brutally and he’d shamefully filled you to the brim, you left him alone. You made a point to sleep on the sofa that night - not in bed with him.

There was no aftercare. 

You didn’t need it, but Bucky did. He desperately needed it, but he knew his place. He couldn’t get too close. 

No, instead he felt further from you than ever before. 


	4. Chapter 4

_August 2015_

Kentucky was absolutely sweltering. It was a hot summer, for one, and for two, Steve was from Brooklyn. He wasn’t used to such sticky, uncomfortable heat because New York summers were much milder than this and Germany’s were much of the same. He wasn’t used to the humidity, either, even after you’d managed to wrangle him into a tank top, cargo shorts, and flip-flops. It was much less stifling than his uniform or even his civvies, but he felt out of place in such bizarre, 21st century clothing.

Then again, that was exactly the point. He was undercover. You both were.

You, on the other hand, seemed right in your element as the two of you unloaded the moving van you’d just picked up a few miles away from one of Tony’s associates. It was stocked full of boxes – mostly empty ones, just for show – along with a couple pieces of furniture: table and chairs, a small sofa, and a bed.

You were wearing a tee shirt with some faded band logo on it – Steve didn’t recognize it – and a pair of short denim shorts. Those he recognized only because Sam had teased you about them right before the two of you left the compound – called them ‘Daisy Dukes,’ whatever that meant. You’d just winked at Sam, made a lasso motion with your hands and cheered, “yee-haw,” like a cowgirl. Then you and Sam shared a laugh. It was a reference that Steve clearly didn’t get, but that was fine. It gave him something to think about, to distract him from how short those shorts really were.

The flight to Kentucky had been fine. You hammed it up a bit, already putting on the newlywed façade – told the flight attendant that you’d just gotten married and _darlin’,_ _isn’t_ _my new hubby_ _just the greatest?_ and it flustered him. You were showing him off. Even if it wasn’t real, he couldn’t help but preen a little.

That said, there was no doubt in his mind that someone else would have better suited the role than him. The decision wasn’t up to him, though; there had quite literally been a vote to see who should take this mission, and he’d been selected the prime candidate because _of course_ he was. Everyone thought it would be hilarious to shove you and him together in a box for a couple weeks, like some warped version of Seven Minutes in Heaven: you, the scandalous minx you were, and him, the prude.

Steve didn’t mind it, really. He was actually a little excited for it. Nervous, too. He was in love with you, had been for months now. He knew should have said no to the mission because of the clear conflict of interest but he didn’t.

His attraction to you started out as an objective appreciation for the way you could handle yourself in the field. He noticed the glimmer you got in your eyes from a fight, when you did something perfectly or landed a particularly good blow or when he saved your ass at the last minute. He noticed the excited flush that came over your cheeks and the mischievous look you got when you fought alongside him, the two of you working together so well that it was almost like an elaborate dance. 

He’d had always known how attractive you were in other ways, too. Every now and then, he’d catch the slip of a bra strap, or you’d lean over and your shirt would accidentally reveal far too much cleavage. Sometimes, you’d wear a short, tight dress and go out to a nightclub with Natasha, and he could barely keep his eyes off of you. Other times, the hint of your thong peeked out of the top of your tac pants. Not often.

He tried not to look. You drove him crazy.

The mission itself was the easy part. The two of you were undercover in this small Kentucky town to find out where some particularly important intel had been downloaded. Tony’s satellites had only been able to pinpoint it to a one block radius, which coincidentally was smack dab in the middle of suburbia.

Your new residence was a charming little house at the end of a cul-de-sac, two bedrooms, one bath. A white picket fence bordered the yard, with pretty pink and purple flowers blooming under the windowsills and in the front garden. The exterior was painted light blue and it seemed a bit older, likely heritage – almost looked like something from his childhood, if he was being honest.

The moment Steve saw it – really, truly took it in – it made him stop in his tracks.

Some people actually got to have lives like this. They married, settled down, popped out a couple of kids, maybe got a dog. They had normal, ordinary lives. He wondered for a moment if this was what it felt like.

Your shoulder brushed against his as you made your way up the paved driveway, carrying a big box. You were humming some tune he didn’t recognize. He just stood there like an idiot, watching you as you went inside to add the box to the ever-growing pile and when you came back out, you waved at someone – one of the nosy neighbours, no doubt.

Then you gave him a sweet smile. “Honey?”

God, the word was so, so sweet on your tongue and it made his heart race. Somehow, he managed to get out an easy, “Yeah, sweetheart?”

It felt so strange and unfamiliar to use such words of adoration for you, but he certainly didn’t mind it in the least. It felt nice. While he called you ‘doll’ every now and then out of habit, he tried not to out of respect for you. Now he didn’t need to hold back.

“Do you wanna come help me with this? I can’t lift it.”

“Of course,” he responded, readjusting his grip on the box in his arms before he started up the walkway.

You waited for him at the door. When he got there, you gave him another one of those sweet, disarming smiles, and then you kissed him on the cheek, batting your eyelashes at him.

It was an act, of course, to appease the nosy neighbours and it also helped the two of you blend in. You were just trying to sell the story, and he knew that – but this was a terrible idea. He wasn’t sure how long it would to take to finish the mission, but he hoped it was sooner rather than later. You were going to be the death of him with the pet names, the southern drawl, the skimpy outfits and, just – _you_.

* * *

The house was pretty much already stocked with anything either of you would need. There were two bedrooms, one for each of you, but you’d have to share a bathroom. That was fine, because you’d done it plenty of times before during other missions. It was actually pretty nice that you had your own rooms, for once, because you usually had to share a single motel room or set up camp somewhere outside.

The first night, you ordered takeout because that was pretty much a moving day tradition. The two of you joked around like usual and talked about all sorts of things, but none of them were really personal. You kept the conversation breezy and light, even when it drifted to the mission at hand. Over beer and pizza, the two of you developed a plan to canvas the area. You’d distract the neighbours while Steve got into their homes and searched for the intel. Easy as pie.

Quite literally.

Steve was a heavy sleeper, but he woke to the smell of warm apple pie wafting through the house. It was still relatively early, sun just rising above the horizon, but you were already putting the plan into action.

When he came downstairs, he caught a particularly nice view of your ass as you leaned over to pull the pie from the oven. You weren’t wearing those short denim shorts anymore, but a pair of tight high-waisted jeans and a crop top.

“Mornin’, sugar,” you said with a wink.

It caught him off guard. He remembered that the two of you were undercover, but it wasn’t necessary behind closed doors like this. You were purposely trying to get a rise out of him.

He gave you a deadpan look, but he still felt his cheeks flush and, when he saw your eyes shine mischievously, he knew you’d noticed it too.

“Didn’t realize apple pie counted as breakfast nowadays,” he commented.

“Come on, Cap. We deep fry everything nowadays. Of course it’s breakfast,” you told him, laughing. He studied your face for a moment, and then, when he actually went to reach for the freshly baked pie, like this was yet some more knowledge that he’d never learnt while he was frozen – you gently pulled his hand away. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, Rogers. It’s for our cover.”

You rarely apologized for anything, but for this – for him, you did. The fact that he’d been frozen for so many years wasn’t something to joke about to you, even if it was unintentional. You hadn’t meant to make a joke of it.

Steve looked a little surprised by that. It didn’t really bother him all that much when people made jokes at his expense. Sensitive topic, absolutely, but the jokes were never malicious and he knew that. It was more prodding fun at the fact that while yes, he’d certainly missed a lot, it also meant that people were looking out for him, suggesting to him things that he should look into.

Your warm fingers lingered on his hand just a little longer than they should have.

He shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’m used to it. There’s a lot of stuff I need to catch up on.”

“Got a list going, huh?” you teased.

“Yeah, actually,” he said with a grin, pulling a small notebook out of his pocket. “Sure do.”

That morning, the two of you went through his list one by one, and you gave some comments and suggestions of your own. Instead of writing them himself, like he usually did, he relinquished the pen and paper to you.

Steve inadvertently wound up saving those notes, and on particularly bad days, he found himself studying every curve of your handwriting, like it held whatever answer he was seeking.

* * *

Over the next few days, he came to realize that you were purposely fucking with him.

You’d always been a tee shirt and jeans kind of girl, at least in the couple of years he’d known you, but for this mission all you wore were cute, dainty outfits. You started wearing floral dresses or the occasional blouse and skirt, paired with light makeup and heels. You hardly ever wore makeup or heels unless you were going out with Natasha.

You were playing a character. He knew that. But seeing you in such a different light, so sweet and girly, it did something to him. It sparked something in him – or maybe it just added fuel to the fire that was already burning for you.

He’d always treated you respectfully, at least he liked to think so. Even though he’d had an undeniable attraction to you for a long time – longer than he’d been in love with you – he’d always treated you like an agent first and a woman second. Seeing you like this, though, it made that an extremely difficult task to accomplish, especially when you were calling him, “Honey,” and “Baby,” and introducing him to your new neighbours as your husband.

He loved seeing that ring on your left ring finger. There was a matching one on his, and a large part of him wished it was real.

* * *

After about a week, neither of you had made any headway in your mission yet. The two of you had tried multiple residences nearby, now, but no luck so far. It came routine, almost, the way you went about your days.

Steve was a morning person. He woke early to go for a run, much earlier than you, even before the sun started to rise. The small house you shared was a little older, and the floorboards creaked as he crept past your room to go downstairs in the early hours. It never failed to wake you, but hearing the gentle creaking every morning soon became a comfort that you never realized you’d miss until after it was gone.

You, on the other hand, were a night owl. You stayed up late on the sofa downstairs, using your work tablet to investigate new leads and potential suspects well after Steve went to bed. Of course, that only did so much to distract you from the fact that the eerie quiet of the small town got to you. It made you relive memories you’d rather forget.

When you were alone, that was when you suffered most. Unfortunately, Bucky wasn’t here to help you. You’d only recently discovered how good he was at making you forget, but for this, you’d just have to make do on your own like you’d done for so long already.

It was more difficult than ever before.

You followed Steve up to bed once, with every intention of starting something you knew you shouldn’t. He was in the middle of brushing his teeth when he found you standing at the top of the stairs, staring at him in a way that just a little bit unsettling.

He pulled his toothbrush from his mouth and asked, “What’s the matter, doll?”

He was too sweet. You lost your nerve.

“Forgot my phone,” you said blankly, before you held it up like it was proof that your intention hadn’t been anything but innocuous. 

Steve just shrugged and went back to brushing his teeth, completely oblivious as to what you’d nearly done. You’d nearly crossed a line that shouldn’t be crossed. Not again. You’d already done it with Bucky. You didn’t need to do it with Steve, too.

Despite it all, some nights you needed to be held – especially here in this awful quiet town that made it so easy for you to lose yourself in your memories. You needed to be treated sweetly, and in a lot of ways, Steve did that for you. Not intentionally, of course; just a kind look here, a gentle hand on your lower back there, not to mention the praise he offered you sometimes. He often told you after missions that you’d done a good job.

Good job. From his lips, it almost sounded like he was saying _good girl_.

What really did it for you, though, was that you didn’t even have to say a thing for Steve to know you were doing your best. He didn’t know you, not really, aside from one single side of you that he knew almost too well – the small part of you that wanted his praise, along with his acceptance of your mistakes. Steve had seen you make a number of them over the past couple of years, and despite them all, he always treated you so kindly. He never judged you or blamed you for them.

You never, ever let anyone else see you that way, let alone Bucky because if he did, then he’d have seen far too much. You only let people have a glimpse of who you truly were here and there, because if they saw too many sides of you, then they’d be able to piece together who you really were deep down. It wasn’t pretty.

You offered Bucky the dangerous, broken part of yourself, the one that killed and murdered and didn’t feel a lick of remorse. You got him to punish you, ruin you, break you, because that was what that part of you deserved – and he was so, so good at it. You loved him for it. You thanked him. That side of you well and truly belonged to him. You never showed it to anyone else. 

Not that you’d ever tell him that.

The other part of you that Steve got to see – the sweet, clueless girl who did her best and it just wasn’t good enough sometimes – that part of you was all his.

Not that you’d ever tell him that, either.

* * *

Your weakest point was always late at night when you were alone. You found yourself coming closer and closer to climbing into Steve’s bed more frequently as the days passed, but you held strong. Somehow, you managed.

Sometimes you stopped yourself when you got to the top of the stairs, staring at his closed bedroom door. Other times, you found yourself in his bedroom, taking in every bit of his peaceful, sleeping face. Once and only once, you ran your fingers through his hair and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. On that particular night, you very nearly hadn’t stopped there – but you managed.

You always managed.

During the day, you put on a façade just like you’d always done. It was routine. It almost felt normal to do this – to cohabitate, to get groceries and toilet paper, to worry about how your lemon bars were going to turn out today – but you never let yourself fall too deep into that normal, ordinary line of thinking because you knew how hard it would be to pull yourself out of it.

Every day, Steve went for an early morning jog, and after he’d come back and showered, you finally started to rouse. By the time you sluggishly made your way downstairs, he was in the kitchen fixing breakfast for the two of you. He never failed to have a hot cup of coffee waiting for you with the exact amount of cream and sugar you liked.

It was the same every day, and some part of you – that sweet, clueless girl – loved every part of it. The normalcy. The domesticity. 

Your pet names for each other started to become insufferable in the best way. You used to greet him with normal ones – honey, baby, sweetheart – and he did the same. As the days passed, though, in private the two of you got more and more ridiculous to the point that you made each other laugh with them. And, every now and then when one of them slipped out in public, it only added to your newlywed persona.

“Good morning, honeybun,” you said airily, taking a seat at the counter where you’d plugged in your work tablet the night before. 

Steve gave you a grin just like he always did when you said a particularly silly one. “Morning, gorgeous.”

He didn’t blush as easily anymore when he said such sweet things to you. You assumed that he must have just gotten used to it, but it was a little bit disappointing. You loved to rile him up.

As he dished up two plates of pancakes, you took a sip of the coffee he made for you and scrolled through the new intel from HQ that had come through during the night. There wasn’t much, just another potential location to check out.

After a quick breakfast, Steve did check it out, and it was yet another dead end. It was well into the afternoon by the time he was finished. On your side of things, you spent the day distracting the residents of that particular home so that Steve could get in and out unseen. 

You met up a block away, and on your way back to your new home, you remembered that you needed to pick something up for dinner. The two of you took a detour to the corner store where you usually got your groceries.

Steve was wearing his favourite baseball cap and sunglasses, and you were in a particularly flattering sundress and wedge heels. The mid-afternoon weather was lovely – hot, but not quite as sweltering as most other days. It was nice.

It was almost second nature at this point for you to reach out and lace your fingers with his. The first time you’d done it, he looked surprised as hell and the flush that came across his face made your heart race. Now, he just offered you a small smile and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand like he’d done it a thousand times before.

It still made your heart race. 

All things considered, it seemed like a normal day – except it wasn’t. You should have noticed the extra staff at the corner store. You should have noticed the bulk around their waists – guns – but you didn’t. You were too focused on what to make for dinner. For the first time in a very, very long time, you let your guard down. You _forgot._

Steve did notice, but it took him a little longer than normal, too. When you felt his familiar hand on your lower back press against you just a little more firmly, you immediately knew something was up but you continued to act like everything was just peachy, even when he whispered into your ear, “We need to go.”

You didn’t have to be told twice. You grabbed a couple of random things from the shelves: two tins of beans, a bag of chips, and a candy bar, and then the two of you made your way to the register. You paid in cash. Steve carried the bag for you on the way out. 

It wasn’t difficult to notice the two men on your tail. Your cover was blown. Somehow, your cover was blown and you hadn’t even fucking noticed because you were too distracted by this newlywed façade. You were too distracted by what it felt like to be _normal._

Steve took your small hand in his free one, then, and gave you a gentle squeeze – as if to reassure you. When you glanced over at him, the way he smiled at you made your heart flutter just a little.

 _This isn’t your fault._ _Stop worrying. It’ll be fine._

You believed him. 

You made your way to another house, one that had no cars in the driveway and no garage. Hopefully no one was home. It was some random residence a couple of blocks away from your safe house, but you picked the lock so quickly that it looked like you were just opening the door with a regular key. Then you and Steve walked inside like that was where you’d been living this whole time.

You watched from the second-floor window as the two men on your trail radioed something in, probably your location – and then you both slipped out the back and hopped the fence. It was a little higher than you’d normally be able to scale, and Steve helped lift you over. He put his hands around your waist to lift you up, first, but you still couldn’t quite reach, so you quickly told him, “Grab my ass, Rogers.”

Steve’s grip noticeably faltered at your request and your sundress fluttered in the breeze, but he did as you asked – slid his hands from your waist to your barely-covered ass and soft thighs, which provided just enough height and leverage to finally pull yourself over the fence.

When you landed on the other side, you felt like you’d just run a marathon. His touch had been so hot, almost burning, and he’d gripped you so firmly, so close to where you’d been wanting him to touch you for what felt like ages that wet, sticky heat had started to pool in between your legs.

Neither of you discussed it.

The run home was fast, but silent and uncomfortable. You didn’t speak much, and neither did he. You shared a dinner of canned beans and potato chips, but neither of you had much of an appetite. You needed to figure out what to do, now, but you barely had a chance to discuss it when the loud sound of an explosion shook your quaint little safe house.

You both immediately knew what it was.

The perp – whoever the hell it was – had blown up the house the two of you had gone to earlier. It wasn’t your house. It belonged to some random family. You could recall seeing their photos on the walls, a happy family of four.

Steve said something to you, but it didn’t really register. He pulled on his uniform and went to check it out. That didn’t really register, either. All you could focus on was the fact that you’d very likely gotten people killed because you’d been too stupid and distracted to notice that your cover was blown.

By the time he returned, you had turned on the news to find that the explosion was being blamed on a gas leak. The grim expression on his face told you that definitely wasn’t the case, but you already knew that.

A couple more hours passed in silence as you stared blankly at the television. You weren’t watching it. You weren’t paying attention at all. Instead, you were reliving every single mistake in your career and as much as Steve desperately wanted to reach out and hold you, help you feel better, ease your pain, he didn’t.

Things like this always hit you hard, but you never wanted comfort. You always had to handle it yourself. He’d tried in the past to help – told you that it wasn’t your fault, gently rubbed your back – and you’d shoved him away. You didn’t want to be coddled. You didn’t need it.

Except tonight, you did.

Steve went to bed first, sometime after eleven. It wasn’t that the night’s events didn’t bother him, because they certainly did. He’d just experienced things like this a lot more than you, especially during the war, and he knew how to compartmentalize. Somehow, he could still sleep at night, whereas he knew you probably wouldn’t get a wink of it.

He’d help you pack in the morning. He’d contact HQ. He’d write up the mission report. He’d do all of it for you, because he loved you. He’d do anything for you.

* * *

Sometime in the middle of the night, you stopped resisting your impulses. You crept up the stairs and, for a brief moment, paused as you stared at Steve’s closed bedroom door for what was probably the umpteenth time.

Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears as you slowly turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

The moonlight was streaming through the open curtains onto the bed, where you found him fast asleep. Of course he was. He’d always been a heavy sleeper, even now.

You brushed away a few strands of hair stuck to his forehead, and he almost seemed to lean into your touch; then you trailed your fingers down his bare chest, further south, pushing his sheets back along the way. The only thing he was wearing was a pair of soft plaid sleep pants that you’d teased him about once – said they suited him, the old man he was.

Right now, though, they were almost too low on his hips. Must have shifted sometime during the night.

His skin was damp to the touch from the summer heat. As your eyes trailed over him in the moonlight, you had a fleeting thought of how _perfect_ he was and you stopped holding yourself back.

Your lips were hot on the sweat-slicked skin of his abdomen. He tasted like salt and smelled like heaven – like soap and fresh laundry, clean, with the slightest undertone of musk.

It turned you on.

You kissed your way up his body until he stirred with the softest, quietest moan, his muscles shifting under your touch. You didn’t stop. Instead, you met his dazed, half-lidded eyes with a sinful smile.

“Wait, wait,” he breathed, fumbling to take your hands into his. His voice was rough from sleep. “Talk to me, doll. Please.”

You didn’t. 

Instead, you nudged your dress out of the way and straddled his hips, which let you feel exactly how much you’d affected him. His cock was rock hard and straining against his pajama pants, and you did nothing to soothe it. Instead, you rolled your hips against him.

“Sweetheart,” he groaned, his head lulling back against the pillow. “It’s been a bad night. We shouldn’t.”

He didn’t mean it.

When you laced your fingers with his, he was so receptive – squeezed your hands right back, especially when you leaned down to kiss him. Your breasts nearly spilled out of your bra when they fell against his chest. With your dress half-unbuttoned, you saw his eyes flicker down to your cleavage for a split second before he looked back up at your face in awe, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

You kissed him, then, softly and sweetly, and sighed against his mouth, “Make me forget.”

Almost instantly, his hands left yours to cup the sides of your face, and he kissed you so deeply, so passionately that all you could think about was him. His lips were soft, but his kisses weren’t, especially when his tongue swept into your mouth as if to claim you, make you his, make you forget.

Then he trailed his fingers down the sides of your body, feeling every inch of you against him before they settled on your hips. He held you in place as he ground his hips up into yours, and you gasped against his mouth, relishing in the feeling of his hard cock against your folds – clothed or not.

The way he gathered you in his arms and lay you down on your back was sweet and gentle. He peppered kisses down your neck and torso as he finished unbuttoning your dress, before it was off entirely, discarded haphazardly to the floor – and then he sat back on his heels to just _look_ at you.

You weren’t fully revealed to him yet, still wearing a lacy peach-pink bra and panties, but you felt absolutely naked in front of him. You were attractive, you knew that much – but the way his eyes took in every single one of your curves made your face flush like that stupid, clueless girl that had gotten people killed tonight. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered as he leaned in to kiss you again.

Something about the way he said it made you want him even more and you whined – actually _whined_ – against his lips, “Baby, _please_.” 

Jesus Christ, he could have come right then.

Instead, he pulled away just enough to press a kiss to your stomach, your navel, your hip – and then he tugged your panties down and off before he buried his face between your thighs. He’d been wanting to worship your body for ages, and you deserved it now more than ever.

Your reaction was immediate. You gasped and writhed against his mouth, so much that he had to firmly hook his arms around your legs to hold you in place. You were so god damn responsive and it drove him crazy, especially when you gripped his hair in your fingers and pulled him closer to grind your perfect pussy against his face. 

The taste of you was intoxicating – sweet, just a little tart – and he barely even realized what he was doing when he slid two fingers inside of you. Not one to start like he normally would have, but two, because you were so fucking soaked and desperate for him already.

“Stevie,” you whimpered when he curled his fingers up in a particular spot that sent you reeling.

God, he loved the sound of his name on your lips.

“Does that feel good?” he cooed against your slick folds, his hot breath sending a chill through you.

“Yeah,” you responded breathily, and you whimpered when he did it again. “Yeah, honey, just like that—”

_Honey._

The word spurred him on and he went right back to devouring you, his tongue circling your clit as his fingers curled roughly against your g-spot over and over. It brought you higher and higher and higher until he couldn’t hold you down anymore and your back arched off the sheets, legs shaking against his shoulders as you came with a sharp cry.

When you collapsed back against the sheets, he crawled up your body to see your flushed, fucked-out face. Before he kissed you again, he went to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand out of consideration for you – but instead, you tugged on his arm and pulled him down to settle in between your thighs.

“Kiss me like that,” you told him, and he readily complied. You could taste yourself on his lips, but you didn’t care; all you cared about was the sharp breath he took in as you slid your hand into his pants and wrapped your fingers around him. His cock was hot, thick, and heavy in your palm, and you wanted him inside of you.

Your other hand slid his pajama pants down just enough to pull him out entirely, and then you ran the head of his cock back and forth through your slick folds.

Steve broke away from the kiss to lean his forehead against your shoulder. His voice was unsteady when he started, “If you’re not sure—”

But you just wrapped your legs around his waist, then, and used the leverage to drag him inside of you. All you could manage was the tip because of the angle, but at your eagerness, he actually _growled_ – deep and feral before he slid the rest of the way inside in one fluid motion.

“Fuck, Stevie,” you gasped, “You feel so _good_ —”

Then his lips were on yours again, swallowing every single word you wanted to say. He wasn’t rough, but he wasn’t exactly gentle either as his hips rocked into yours so easily – almost like this was meant to happen, like the two of you should have been doing this all along. His tongue dominated your mouth as his hands caressed your body all over, palming your breasts, your hips, your thighs as he made love to you.

That’s exactly what it was. You knew it, and he did, too.

The realization of that brought you to the brink almost in an instant.

When he hiked one of your legs up higher around his waist, you felt even closer – both to him, and to your orgasm. It was intimate. It was perfect. The new angle was incredibly deep, and his cock reached spots inside of you that you’d never even known about before.

You broke away from his mouth to bury your face in his shoulder, arms wrapped tight around his neck. “I’m close, _god,_ I’m so fucking close, Steve—”

Judging by the way he was throbbing so much inside you, he was close, too. His breath was hot on the shell of your ear when he rasped, “Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back. “Fill me up, honey, _please_.”

His hands gripped your thighs even more firmly as he held you in place, his thrusts stuttering just a little at the knowledge that you didn’t want him to pull out, no—you wanted him to come inside you. You wanted him to fill you up. You wanted him to give you every single fucking drop of his cum.

“Fuck, Steve, I’m coming, I’m coming—” you babbled mindlessly against his neck, wrapping your legs around him even tighter as you reached your peak, pleasure cascading around you in waves.

Those breathless moans paired with your walls clenching down on him so tightly were what pushed him over the edge, and he buried himself to the hilt, filling you up just like you’d begged him for with a groan of your name right into your ear. It might have been the sexiest thing you’d ever heard in your life, but your mind was blissfully blank.

He left to get you a washcloth to clean up – the two of you had made a mess after all – and unlike how you’d been with Bucky, you let Steve take care of you. You needed it.

After he wiped you clean, you curled so snugly into his side, using his chest as a pillow. He pressed gentle kisses to the crown of your head and muttered sweet nothings to you, and his soothing voice eased you to sleep.

* * *

For the first time in a very long time, Steve overslept.

At first, he thought he forgot to turn on his alarm. Then he remembered that it automatically set itself every morning. He didn’t forget to turn it on. 

You’d purposely turned it off.

He knew that because by the time he woke, you were gone. He found a note from you downstairs, on the kitchen counter where you used to have breakfast every morning.

_Headed to my next mission. See you around, Rogers._

It was that same curly handwriting as what you’d written in his little notebook. He recognized it in an instant, but when he realized what you meant by it – that this was a one-time thing, a moment of weakness, a lapse of judgement – he couldn’t say it didn’t sting.

What hurt worse was that, when he tried calling you, it went straight to voicemail and when he sent you texts, you read and then ignored them.

You brushed him off, because you got what you wanted.

He made you forget.


	5. Chapter 5

_May 2016_

It was perhaps a blessing that the next time you saw the two of them, it was in a group setting. Neither Steve nor Bucky tried to contact you again, and you certainly didn’t make any effort to contact them, either. As far as you were concerned, you were done. It was better that way – for all three of you.

Nearly four months after that wonderfully wicked night with the two of them, you'd been recalled to the States temporarily to help on a mission regarding a target that you knew all too well. When Tony originally explained it to you over the phone, you hung up on him. Their target was the exact reason why you were so fucked up to begin with, and he knew that.

Even still, somehow, he managed to convince you. He made a bunch of phone calls and sent even more texts, not to mention he overnighted you a particularly garish gift basket for which you had to make up excuses to your colleagues in London. You finally said yes to helping out this time, but only because Tony knew that you had very specific insider knowledge on the topic - and you made him promise not to broadcast its source to the rest of the team, whoever that wound up being. 

It was anonymous intel. You were consulting. That was it, and true to his word, Tony didn't offer any further explanation.

The click of your patent stilettos was particularly sharp on the tile of the compound, and the soft grey skirt suit on your body was perfectly tailored. Underneath it, you wore a delicate chiffon blouse, something you’d normally never wear. With a black leather briefcase in hand and your hair pinned back, you looked every bit the consultant, not the field agent you really were. You’d done it on purpose as yet another wall, another barrier to separate yourself from your target along with your all-too-familiar teammates. 

Despite the fact that Tony had your back on this, what pissed you off about it was that Steve and Bucky had both been assigned to the team. Tony must have had something to do with it if the the shit-eating grin on his face was any indication. Along with the three of them, Natasha was along for the ride, too, and she regarded you coolly as always.

Although you originally strode into the meeting room with all the confidence in the world – and of course you did, you’d done it a thousand times before at this point – you left feeling pathetic and weak. You never should have come here. Why you thought you’d be able to work here again, with _them,_ you hadn’t the slightest idea but you'd never be able to forget the way they looked at you when they first saw you again.

Steve's eyes almost seemed to light up for the briefest of seconds, like he was glad to see you, before a certain bitter recollection came across his face, one that you recognized instantly. You’d used him and fucked his best friend behind his back, and on top of it all there was the awful memory of that angry, resentful night between the three of you. He immediately pressed his lips into a firm line and averted his eyes to the screen at the front of the room. You didn’t blame him for it.

Bucky, on the other hand, had no trouble whatsoever treating you like the trash he thought you were. He glanced at you once, and then snubbed you entirely, crossing his arms over his chest. Even so, you didn’t miss the way a muscle in his jaw ticked. You knew it bothered him, too, the fact that you were here.

The tension didn't go unnoticed.

“Well, I'm not gonna touch _that_ with a fifty-foot pole, but welcome back,” Tony said with a grin, patting you on the back. “Sure been lonely without you. For some more than most, I guess—”

You, Steve, and Bucky all shot him a pointed look, then, and he shut his mouth.

“We missed you," Nat told you in what sounded like an honest tone, totally out of character, before she pulled you in for a hug like it was a normal, everyday thing for her to do with you. It absolutely wasn’t. Instead, it lingered just a little too long because she whispered in your ear almost inaudibly, "Try not to fuck things up this time."

Her comment was a pointed jab at the obvious tension in the room, not your abilities or mistakes. When you pulled away, you gave her a nauseatingly sweet smile and said, "Mind your business, Romanoff."

It was a warning.

You and Nat had ever been friends, really, but you weren’t enemies either. Neutral, mostly. Switzerland. You worked together well enough, but you didn’t really get along. Maybe it was because you were too similar in a lot of ways. She may or may not have known the details, but she clearly wasn’t happy with the way you’d toyed with her friends’ hearts so easily – that much was obvious. Right now, she wasn’t neutral at all.

Tony loudly cleared his throat, then, and you finally took a seat in one of the front chairs at the meeting room table, purposely staying further away from any of them than you ever would have before.

You kept your distance. Another wall. Another barrier.

As if the target wasn't bad enough, the team was even worse. Of course you trusted them all to have your back despite your misdeeds, and they trusted you to do the same, but there was certainly no comradery except in Tony.

While Tony presented his slides – most of it being intel you'd given to him anonymously, because you didn't want your name attached to it – you could feel eyes burning into the back of your head. Whose, you weren’t sure.

In the end, though, the five of you were somehow able to work together and develop a plan. You’d be heading out in the middle of the night tonight.

* * *

Because your mission wasn’t for a few more hours, it gave you some time to burn off some nervous energy in the gym. That worked great until Bucky came in for a workout, too. He caught your gaze once in the mirror, briefly – and then he ignored you just as much as you ignored him despite the amount of unspoken words and feelings between you both. 

Despite how uncomfortable it was to be like this with him, so distant, you snuck glances at him in between sets. It was easy to appreciate how attractive he was, so muscular and thick and powerful that even now you couldn’t help but miss him, every part of him – miss the familiar weight of him on top of you, miss the bruises from his brutal grip on your hips, your breasts, your throat; miss the way he pulled your hair and punished you in every way that you deserved.

Somewhere deep down, you also missed the gentleness he offered you every now and then even though you were always so surly and unreceptive to him for it. His place was to be rough with you, but despite that, you liked knowing that some part of him was sweet and gentle. Corruptible.

You missed him, every part of him, but you’d never admit it.

When Bucky lifted the hem of his shirt once to wipe away the sweat on his face, your eyes met again and you stared him down in challenge – dark, predatory, almost taunting – until he looked away.

He knew what you wanted from him, and he turned you down. 

* * *

Steve found you later in the evening taking a quick rest outside by the lake. You were still sweaty from your workout, let alone the couple mile run around the compound you’d added on top of it to clear away your anxious thoughts. Not that it worked, because your head was a still mess. Most of your concerns were about the mission, but dispersed throughout were stupid little worries that should never have existed.

You wished things would just go back to how they were. It used to be so simple. You missed the simplicity of those brief overnight visits, the whispered words in between the sheets, the temporary bliss of it all. You missed the clear boundaries that you’d set in the very beginning, because now, those boundaries were blurred and hazy.

Then again, it was only so simple back then because you only cared about your own feelings. Theirs didn’t matter to you, not in the slightest. Steve and Bucky were a means to an end back then, but now, things were different. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or so they say. 

What a load of bullshit.

You ignored Steve as he approached, focusing on re-tying one of your sneakers.

"Still raining in London?"

Unfortunately, you couldn’t ignore him forever. You glanced up to see him casually leaning against one of posts on the pier and you deadpanned, like it was obvious, "It's always raining in London."

Your response was sharp and to the point. You didn't have anything else to say to him, and vice versa, but for some reason he still wanted to talk to you. He wanted to say how much he’d missed you over these past few months, but that was stupid and naïve and he knew better. You'd already shut him down loud and clear. 

He ventured hesitantly, "How are you?"

"Fine," came your short response as you got back to your feet. You fiddled with the ear buds in your ears to start up [some angsty music](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/034ppu39yGoAzS0pTq9Qoe?si=iRcNYYnSQkC0C9xgLm2WMA) before you added, "See you later, Rogers."

Just like the note you left him. 

When you went to continue on with your jog, brushing him off like you always did, Steve’s hand caught your arm and you stopped in your tracks. You met his eyes – determined, angry, _wanting_ – and you knew that yours were every bit a mirror image. His fingers were a pleasant burn on your skin that forced you to resist the ridiculous pull you felt between the two of you, the one that, with every fibre of your being, wanted _this_. Wanted _him_.

Just as much as you wanted Bucky. 

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but you purposely wrenched your wrist from his grasp before he could say a word, and went for another lap. You didn't look back, because you knew that if you did, you might not be able to resist him again.

You didn’t want to open up to him. You didn’t want to open up to either of them. All you wanted was to forget, but that wasn’t going to happen. 

When you finally made it back around to the pier, he wasn’t there. You didn’t expect him to be, but some small part of you was disappointed that he wasn’t.

* * *

At exactly midnight, you lugged your duffel into the Quinjet and then flopped down on one of the seats. Your bag contained a few different outfits, along with some tactical gear and weapons - the norm - just in case you wound up in the field. You were supposedly only consulting, but you got the feeling that you wouldn’t be for much longer.

It bothered you more than it should have that you weren’t sharing your bag with anyone this time like you used to do so frequently in the past.

After you took a seat, you took a moment to adjust your thigh holster. The leather was pinching a little, but your tac pants helped ease it a bit. It definitely wasn’t nearly as bad as when you wore it on bare skin. Steve was at the front of the plane, loading up another bag overhead, and when you looked up at him, you caught him staring as you fiddled with your holster so close to your crotch.

He immediately looked away.

Because of how small the plane really was, you wound up seated in between Natasha and Bucky, with Steve at the helm and Tony co-piloting. You thanked fuck that both of your boys weren’t back here with you, because that would have been even worse. One was enough.

You could feel the irritation rolling off of Bucky in waves, likely because the two of you knew each other so well – or, at the very least, each other’s bodies. He was tense, and after a couple of minutes when you stretched your legs, your knee accidentally brushed against his and he tensed even more. He didn’t want to be here with you any more than you wanted to be here with him. 

Except you kind of did want to be here with him. That was the worst part. 

Meanwhile, conversation with Natasha was like pulling teeth, but it was still more pleasant than whatever choice words Bucky no doubt had for you. You knew you’d wind up hearing them sooner rather than later. It was only a matter of time before he snapped and told you what he really thought.

You were looking forward to it, actually. You couldn’t wait to have that anger directed right at you. 

Something was clearly wrong with you. 

The plane was near-silent by the time you reached altitude some twenty minutes later, with Steve and Tony calling out specific flight paths occasionally while Natasha kept an eye on the map. Seeing a clear outline of one specific part of Mexico spread out in her lap sent a feeling of dread right into the pit of your stomach.

You didn't want to go back.

The way Bucky pulled your hand into his was discreet, and you shot him a look, cautious and guarded and wondering where this sudden change of heart came from. He met your eyes with a steely resolve you’d never seen from him.

 _Know your place, Barnes._ That's what you used to say. _Don't get too close._

He squeezed your hand, once, and then he let it go, as if to make a point.

_Dare me not to._

Just like you knew his body like the back of your hand, he knew yours, too – far too well. He saw how you reacted when you saw the map. He noticed the way you’d been so anxious in the meeting room earlier while the five of you discussed your target - and then, later, he found you burning off that nervous energy in the gym. 

Not a whole lot unnerved you, but this did. For some reason, this did, and despite how much he hated you for using him, he still found himself wanting to take care of you.

You were a bad habit: hard to shake and even harder to forget. 

* * *

The sleeping arrangements were much nicer than any of you expected them to be: a large hotel suite in Cancun, with four bedrooms and two bathrooms. Tony got his own room, because of course he did, he was paying for it and it was _his_ – while the other four of you had to somehow make do with the three remaining rooms.

In a rare moment of selflessness, you volunteered to take the pull-out sofa bed. No one objected. The living room was neutral ground. Maybe, in some twisted fashion, this was your way of extending an olive branch.

The first couple of days were fine. Recon, mostly. Easy. Boring. Tense. Predictable. You stayed in the hotel room as command while the others worked out in the field. You were consulting. You weren’t here for field work.

On the third night, the troubles between you and Natasha resolved pretty quickly after a foray into the suite’s expansive mini bar. At some point, the two of you stumbled back to her bedroom, girly giggles spilling into the halls well into the early hours of the morning – and when those girly giggles turned to quiet, breathy moans, you discovered that Natasha was just as good as your boys at making you forget.

You marked up her body, loving how easily her pale skin changed colour so easily under your fingertips. You loved it almost as much as when it was done to you. You were rough with her, pushed and pulled her, sucked bruises on her neck and breasts and thighs until she was begging for you to put her out of her misery – and you did that, too. You loved watching her come apart.

Natasha’s lips and tongue were sweet and tart, like fresh cherries, just like her personality. Her fingers were small and slim but dextrous, skilled at ripping orgasm after orgasm from you until you were flushed and spent, absolutely exhausted. When you couldn’t find the energy to sit up anymore, she rode your face until she came for the umpteenth time that night.

She used you just as much as you used her.

The two of you really were the same in many regards. You both had things you wanted to forget. With her, there really were no strings attached. There were no feelings involved. It was a total distraction, meaningless, and what a distraction it was: the first real one you’d had in months.

Cancun was where you first lost your humanity, and, for a little while, Natasha made you forget – because your boys weren’t willing to. Then again, neither were you. Not really. Not anymore. Not with them. You desperately wanted everything to go back to how it was, but your relationship with them was broken and beyond repair. 


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, over breakfast, you moved your belongings to Natasha’s room like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was easy, casual, and logical – absolutely not a grand gesture. Honestly, it just made sense. You didn’t need to continue taking up space in the living room when she was more than willing to share her bed with you.

Tony cocked an eyebrow at it. You knew from past experience that he slept like a log and very likely hadn’t heard a thing. “And where are _you_ going?”

“The bed’s big enough for two,” Natasha told him, smirking just a little as she took a bite of cereal.

You and Natasha shared a playful glance and you added, slinging your duffel bag over your shoulder, “Why, Tony? Wanna join us?” 

That actually got him to choke on his coffee. Tony Stark was rarely caught off guard, so it was quite an achievement. Made you feel a little proud, actually, but that feeling quickly disappeared.

“That’s enough,” Steve said, then, in that particularly authoritative tone that never failed to make your panties wet. “We’ve got big plans today. Get your things together and let’s go.”

When you met his eyes, you found that they were a deep, stormy blue and, for a moment, your breath hitched in your throat. Oh, he he was _not_ happy. No doubt about it. Steve’s room shared a wall with Natasha’s, a fact you’d been blissfully unaware of last night. You certainly hadn’t been as considerate as you probably should have been, but deep down you were bitter and angry with how things had ended between the two of you and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

Much. 

Then, when you brushed past Bucky on the way back to Natasha’s bedroom, he gave you a look – a single lingering look that made it plain as day that he knew what you’d been up to, too. Unlike his best friend, it wasn’t anger you saw in the pale blue of Bucky’s eyes, but concern. 

You just kept on walking.

* * *

You went out in the field for a little while that day. Being cooped up in a hotel room for three, going on four days straight wasn’t exactly the greatest for your mental health, and you needed some fresh air. That was all well and good, except for the fact that Steve had made a point to pair himself with you and it was painfully obvious why.

Tony was doing aerial recon whilst Bucky and Natasha canvassed a separate part of town. You were thankful for Tony’s suggestion that they handle that particular side of town, because you had no desire to return to it. Aside from Tony’s Iron Man suit, all of you were wearing plain civilian clothes: t-shirts and jeans, like typical tourists.

Steve’s voice had an edge to it every time he talked to you. Whenever he asked you to take a photo of something, write down a location, a name, anything that may have pertained to the mission, it was always straight to the point with him. He kept things strictly professional, which surprised you a bit; you got the feeling that he was about to boil over.

Natasha made a flirty comment over comms around lunchtime. That was what did it. 

You and Steve had slowly been making your way through an abandoned warehouse, dirty, nasty, with boarded-up windows and graffiti-covered walls. He’d just asked you to take a photo of one particular piece of graffiti that linked to the cartel you used to work for. Seeing it again bothered you just a little.

“You’ve got her taking all sorts of pictures, Cap,” Natasha teased. “Wanna take a selfie for me, babe?”

It was a joke. She was flirting, absolutely, but it was a harmless joke. 

“Focus on the mission, Romanoff,” Steve said sharply. His boots were heavy on the cold, hard concrete floor and echoed just as much as his voice did throughout the empty building.

“My, my, someone sure is touchy today,” Tony commented dryly.

Natasha knew just as well as you did that everyone but Tony knew exactly what you’d been up to last night. That much was evident. She also knew exactly why Steve was so touchy, and she let his attitude slide. 

No one dignified Tony’s comment with a response, especially not Steve, and comms went silent once again - except for your snort. You couldn’t help it. Out of everyone, poor Tony was the only one who was oblivious. 

In that moment, you and Steve had finally cleared the top floor: not a soul in sight, and not much else to go off of aside from a couple bits of graffiti. As you wrote that down in your notebook, out of the corner of your eye you saw him reach up and press a button on his earpiece.

He’d just muted it.

Oh. Oh no.

You didn’t have enough time to react before he had you up against the railing at the top of the stairs, hitting the same button on your earpiece. Your back pressed into the cold metal rail as his arms caged you in, keeping you in place. It didn’t hurt, but it was certainly enough to establish that he was in control.

It pissed you off just as much as it turned you on. The fact that you were two stories up and the railing was a little unsteady didn’t scare you as much as it probably should have.

“What the fuck, Steve,” you bit out, attempting to shove him away from you. He didn’t budge, despite the fact that you actually used his first name for once. It wasn’t on purpose.

“I should be asking you that question,” he spat at you – bitter, spiteful. “What the hell was that?”

You knew you shouldn’t have provoked him, but you couldn’t help it.

“Maybe she wants a keepsake,” you told him, clear annoyance seeping into your tone. “You know what a good lay I am.”

The railing audibly creaked from how tightly Steve gripped it in his hands at your snarky response. You didn’t even have to look to know that it was even more wobbly now than before. Every time you moved just a little, you felt like you were going to fall and the adrenaline from it made your heart race just as much as Steve’s body against yours.

“You think this is a game?” he asked angrily. “You gonna sleep with Tony next? Add him to your collection, too?”

Oh, boy, that set you off.

Before it even fully registered in your brain, you slapped him straight across the face, your palm connecting harshly with his cheek. His head jerked to the side from the impact, but you knew that it was only because you’d caught him by surprise. You were nothing compared to him, but the adrenaline pumping freely through your veins emboldened you anyway. 

“You need to _back off,_ Rogers,” you hissed at him, shoving him in the chest again much harder than before. At that, he roughly released the railing, and the motion jostled you just a bit like the ragdoll you were against his strength – and of course that was what made the railing give out entirely, and you fell right along with it.

Steve reacted quickly just as he always did. He caught you by the wrist, his fingers burning hot against your skin. Familiar. When he pulled you forward, away from the ledge, he did it just a fraction too hard because you wound up on your knees. Your breaths came out in short, harsh pants from the near-miss, and you couldn’t help but glare up at him. 

He didn’t apologize.

You didn’t thank him.

For him, it was because your snide comments and shitty attitude set him off, made him act so petty and indignant and childish. He couldn’t help it. You drove him up a wall. 

For you, it was exactly the same, except vice versa – with the added caveat that deep down, you may not have wanted to be saved if he hadn’t caught you in time. Your self-loathing had no bounds.

Steve’s arms were crossed stiffly across his chest as he stared down at you, a muscle ticking in his jaw. You couldn’t help but be reminded of that one particularly wicked night where he and Bucky had you on your knees in front of them – and then they just had _you_. Every part of you. Fully. Entirely. 

The memory of it along with the adrenaline made your libido surge in what was probably the worst moment for it. You loved how strong he was. You loved how easily he could manhandle you and do whatever the hell he wanted to you. He could shove his cock down your throat right this second and you’d fucking thank him for _that_ , at least – which was why you also hated that you loved it, because you were so pissed off at him and _you’d still fucking do it._

He didn’t offer to help you up, and you neither wanted nor needed him to. The air was tense and uncomfortable as you got to your feet and dusted off your jeans. You only broke the silence after you managed to clear away the majority of dirt and debris, and stooped to collect your discarded notebook. Then you rounded on him.

“You will never,” you spat viciously, jabbing a finger in his direction for emphasis, “ _ever_ put your hands on me like that again, _Captain_.”

You didn’t wait for a response before you spun around on your heel and made your way back to the bottom floor. Your footfalls were hard and uncompromising on the dusty metal stairs, full of righteous indignation.

How dare he put his hands on you in that bitter, spiteful way. How dare he judge you. The two of you had slept together for a few months. That was it. You were never exclusive. You never had ‘the talk,’ and even if you had, you would have said no because you weren’t ready for a relationship. You’d set some perfectly clear boundaries, and exclusivity was not one of them. Even now, he had no stake in what you did in your own personal time, _especially_ in the bedroom.

Steve didn’t say a thing, nor did he offer an apology even after what you said to him. That was fine. You didn’t want to hear it, anyway. 

As he near-silently trailed behind you, you ignored him. Let him stew over what you said like the petulant child he wanted to be. You knew some part of him must have realized how badly he fucked up. You knew him well enough for that, judging by how quiet he was being. 

When you got outside, you unmuted your comms. The way you spoke to the group was entirely too normal for what had just occurred: yet another façade. You reached out not because you were hungry, but because you wanted some comfort and comradery. Some part of you felt weak and stupid for coming back here, let alone having to deal with this awful fallout at the same time. 

“Man, I’m starving,” you spoke casually into your earpiece. “Who wants to join me for lunch?”

“I saw a nice shawarma place—” Tony started, but Natasha cut him off with a groan.

“Ugh, Tony, no. Let’s go for something authentic. Get the real Cancun experience.”

You grimaced at that. You’d had enough of that for a lifetime, but you’d appease her. “Meet me at La Jerochita? It’s on Calle 71. We’re just a few minutes out.”

“Roger that,” she told you, and then comms went quiet once again. If there were any objections, someone would have spoken up, but no one did. 

Due to your distracted thoughts, you didn’t notice how easily you recommended the little taqueria. It was almost instinctive, truth be told, because you’d been there so many times – and it definitely wasn’t the greatest idea to go there again, not when you had a history in this town. 

On the short drive there, you just tried to focus on the fact that the food was amazing and it had been years since you’d last stepped foot inside the restaurant. Surely no one would recognize you. Surely. 

* * *

To say that there was obvious tension between you and Steve was an understatement. The two of you sat at one of the outdoor tables while you waited for the rest of your group to arrive, and you didn’t say a single word to each other the entire drive here. Instead, you busied yourself on your phone, scrolling through some news feed while Steve watched the passersby.

As a result, you missed the look Steve and Bucky exchanged when he arrived with Natasha.

“This is a hole in the wall,” she deadpanned. She wasn’t wrong.

You looked up from your phone to grin at her and Bucky. “That means it’s got the best food.”

“How did you even find this place?” Bucky asked you. “You can’t even tell it’s a restaurant.”

You just offered a nonchalant shrug in response. Thankfully, Tony chose that particular moment to arrive, which took the attention away from your deflection. He was in plain clothes like the rest of you, with his Iron Man suit tucked neatly away because technology.

Of course, Bucky’s question was quickly answered as soon as you walked up to the counter to order. There, you saw a familiar face you definitely weren’t expecting to see; you figured he would have long since retired. It wasn’t great that he rememebered who you were, but you were happy to see him nonetheless.

“ _Princesa_ ,” the older man greeted with a bright smile on his face, taking your hands into his as he kissed both of your cheeks, and you did the same with him. It had been years since you last used your Spanish, but you still remembered quite a lot of it and could easily understand him. “ _It’s been too long! We’ve missed you!_ ”

“ _I had to go away for awhile, Dario,_ ” you told him in perfect Spanish. “ _How is your family?_ ”

“ _Better than ever,_ ” he told you cheerfully. “ _My youngest is in college now. He’d love to see you._ ” 

At that, you laughed – a real, genuine laugh. Dario’s youngest child was just a few years younger than you, and he’d had quite the crush on you in the time you’d spent here.

“ _I’m sure he would,_ ” you said, smiling, before you gestured to your companions. “ _Unfortunately, I’m just passing through._ ” 

His brows raised in acknowledgement, and he gave your teammates a nod, as if to say hello.

“ _Hola_ ,” Tony offered awkwardly, like an idiot.

Natasha rolled her eyes. 

Bucky couldn’t help but listen in to your conversation. He knew Spanish because of the Winter Soldier he once was, and the way you spoke to this man - Dario - was so familiar. You actually looked happy to see him. Bucky had noticed how bothered and tense you’d been since you found out where this mission was headed, Cancun, and he had an inkling that it had something to do with why he found you out on the balcony on that cold winter night in Iceland. Right now, though, the smile on your face was genuine. It warmed his heart. 

Although Steve was still in quite a mood, his features softened as he watched you chat so happily in a language he didn’t understand. This man was clearly someone from your past, and Steve didn’t know anything about the things you’d done before you joined them at the compound. He knew your abilities, sure, but not your history. He found himself wanting to, despite everything you’d done to him - to _them,_ and he was having trouble putting the past behind him let alone the events from last night. He was angry, absolutely, but he didn’t mind seeing this new side of you. 

And you – well, you knew you’d have to explain yourself to your teammates, and that was fine. At some point, you would. For now, you’d enjoy some of the only pleasures you’d ever known in Cancun: Dario’s wonderful company, and the delicious meals that he and his family made. 

It made you remember that not everything had been so terrible here, once. Despite everything you’d done, you knew that Dario and his family would always welcome you with open arms. Seeing him again was a warm reminder of that. 

* * *

“I never knew you worked in Cancun,” Natasha commented as the five of you exited the taqueria.

You pursed your lips at that. She was too observant. If it was anyone else, they might have just assumed you just knew Dario in passing, like you’d met him on vacation. Cancun was a tourist hotspot, after all. She was absolutely right that you knew him through your work here, though – or at least by extension of it.

Of course, you and Natasha had never really been friends up until last night, basically, so it made sense that you’d never told her. That, and the fact that your previous work history was classified just as much as hers was. While once upon a time she released SHIELD’s files to the world and yours right along with them, a lot of details had been omitted via people much higher on the food chain just like hers had been.

Some things were meant to stay under wraps.

You hadn’t told anyone about your work in Cancun. Tony only knew because he had contacts just as high up on that same food chain. He was very thorough in his background check before he finally invited you to work alongside the Avengers nearly three years ago.

“Yeah, Nat,” came your short response. “I did.”

Maybe one day you’d go into further detail, but today was not that day.

It was quite clear from your body language and lack of further elaboration that it wasn’t something you wanted to discuss, and no one questioned your decision when you dismissed yourself from the group, advising that you were going to go run command again. You were here just consulting, after all, shouldn’t have even been in the field to begin with, etcetera, etcetera. Excuses, all of them.

The looks on their faces – even Steve’s, despite how angry he’d been with you – were enough to show that while they were concerned about you, they didn’t buy a single one of your excuses. Still, no one pried, and for that, you were thankful.

You made your way back to the hotel alone. It was a quick walk, about ten minutes, but to you it felt like hours. The moment the suite door shut behind you, you finally lost it. You slid down the closed door, buried your face in your arms and cried. 

You forgot to mute your comms.

No one had the heart to tell you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I got a couple messages asking what my tumblr is, so here you go: 
> 
> <https://cake-writes.tumblr.com/>
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading and for leaving such lovely feedback! 💖


	7. Chapter 7

_Romania, July 2015_

“It’s alright,” was Bucky’s awkward, uncertain attempt at soothing you as he stroked your back. While he’d seen you upset before during other unsuccessful missions, there was something about tonight’s failure that triggered a certain darkness inside of you. You were more than just upset this time. You were a complete wreck. “It’s okay.”

You hadn’t been able to save them, even though you’d done your best. Both of you had. You’d tried to prevent the transport from happening, tried to prevent these actual _human fucking beings_ from being trafficked into certain hell, and you’d failed. Instead of salvation, what they’d found was the permanence of death. Every single one of them.

“It’s not okay,” you ground out, angrily rubbing away hot tears as they streamed down your face, refusing to look at him. “We didn’t save them. We didn’t do jack shit, Bucky.”

The way he spoke to you was gentle, despite the bite in your tone. “We can’t save everyone. You know that.”

He was right, and you did know that, but it stung anyway. It hurt. You’d done everything in your power to save them, but this time, you’d come up short. Your mind was going over every single thing you could have done differently – punched one guy a little faster, kicked another person’s legs out sooner – just to get there in time, but none of those what-ifs would change the end result. Not now. It was too late.

All twenty-one women were dead. Some of them weren’t even women, really. They were girls, barely old enough to have started their periods, let alone their _lives_. Seeing the cargo ship littered with their corpses was a sight that haunted you to the core.

* * *

Bucky got you back to the motel somehow. 

Truth be told, it was all a blur. Two other teams had come in to finish what the two of you had started after he’d called in the end result, but you barely even noticed their arrival. All you could think about were the bodies, limp and lifeless with a single bullet embedded in every single one of their foreheads.

His metal arm was a heavy comfort on your shoulders as he led you away from the scene and off of the boat. Maybe he drove you back to the motel. Maybe he had another operative drive the two of you. You weren’t sure. All you knew was that you were in the front passenger’s seat, staring blankly out of the rain-speckled window until the car finally came to a stop.

It was a quiet night, the calm before the storm. The rain was just a sprinkle at first, but it soon became a harsh cadence against the tin rooftop above your heads. Even still, you slept – at least for a little while. You weren’t sure how. It probably had something to do with the way you polished off an entire bottle of whiskey on your own, despite the cautious, concerned looks Bucky sent your way. 

Neither of you talked much. There wasn’t anything to say. 

You didn’t care that weren’t handling it well. You didn’t care that Bucky knew it, either. Instead, it spurred you on to know that he was looking out for you, just like he always did. There was a reason that the two of you were paired up so frequently: you worked well together. You had his six, and he had yours, no matter what. 

You trusted Bucky with your life, but not your demons. 

Even though you knew he wanted to help you, you drank yourself to sleep all the same. Your nightmares plagued you just as they always did, but they were much worse with this recent failure. The horrors of your past and present were all starting to blend together in a way that made you hate yourself even more. 

You woke sometime in the early hours of the morning. It was still dark outside, still pouring down rain, and you didn’t envy the clean-up crew having to work in the inclement weather. 

Your head was pounding, so you choked down a glass of water and a couple of painkillers. Then, and only then, did you finally take a long, hard look around at your surroundings. 

You’d been staying here in this small motel room for a week, and it was exactly the same despite the loss of lives tonight. It was almost like nothing had happened at all.

There wasn’t much to look at, really. Two double-sized beds, a bathroom, and not much else. There was a desk in one corner that neither you nor Bucky used, preferring to do your paperwork in bed. Instead, you kept both your duffel bags there. You and Bucky shared them just like always: one for clothes and the other for gear and weapons.

A tank top and pajama shorts were folded neatly next to one of the duffels. You rightfully assumed that Bucky had laid them out for you for whenever you finally woke up. You’d passed out in your dirty, bloodstained clothes from the mission, too drunk to care.

As you changed into the fresh clothing, a fleeting thought crossed your mind that he was always taking care of you - _you,_ the wreck of a person that you were. Sometimes you let your guard down around him and let him see how broken and damaged you really were inside. Tonight was one of those nights. It made you feel like a burden. 

When you spared a glance over at Bucky, you found that he was fast asleep. The sheets only came up just above his hips, revealing exactly how muscular he really was and your eyes lingered just a little too long on his toned body. You secretly loved going on missions with him during the summer, because he liked to sleep without a shirt when it was hot outside. It was a nice, albeit brief distraction from your troubled thoughts.

A quick check of your watch showed that it was little after three in the morning. You wondered when he’d gone to bed - and if it was already this late, then how long had you been out? Your memories were all a whiskey-induced blur and you couldn’t remember much of anything. 

Naturally, you picked up Bucky’s phone from the side table in between both of your beds and typed in his passcode with ease, like you’d done it a million times before. At this point, you probably had. What you could remember - vaguely - was that he’d been the one to advise HQ of the end result, so you checked his recent calls. He’d called that in around nine.

Why the two of you weren’t back at the compound, you weren’t sure, but it looked like Bucky had called Tony sometime around eleven. You would have been piss-drunk by then, surely. He must have made an executive decision because you were in no condition to travel.

You were a burden. 

When you went to set his phone back down, the metal of his arm glinted in the moonlight, drawing your attention. You weren’t sure where the sudden temptation came from, really. Maybe you were lonely. Maybe you were scared. Maybe you wanted comfort – or maybe it was all of the above.

Either way, you found yourself crawling into his bed, lifting the sheets just enough to slide underneath them. His body was warm. He was always so warm.

What caught you off guard was that you woke him up in the process. You’d been quiet, but Bucky had always been a light sleeper. How you’d forgotten that fact was beyond you. 

“What are you doing?” he asked you, his voice soft and rough from sleep. He was looking up at you in awe, blue eyes wide, his cheeks flushed from the heat.

You chewed your lip as you took him in. He was attractive, no doubt about it: messy brown hair and a little scruff on his face, never mind the fact that he was so strong and powerful that you knew he’d able to satisfy you in ways you couldn’t even imagine.

It was a split-second decision that made you slowly, teasingly trail your fingers down his chest, and you whispered, “You know what I’m doing, Bucky.”

You could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears as you watched the realization come across his face that your intentions were anything but innocent. 

At first, they had been. All you wanted to do was take comfort in the fact that someone else was just… there. It was stupid. But then, when you caught him looking up at you, like you were a goddess – it empowered you. It emboldened you. You wanted him, so you’d have him. Simple as that.

His question was almost inaudible. “Why?”

“Because,” you breathed into his ear, before your tongue traced the shell of it, “you’ll make me forget.”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you pressed your lips against his. He immediately froze up, which you took as a rejection – but then, when you went to break away and apologize because _Christ,_ how stupid could you _be_ – his metal hand was at the back of your neck, pulling you back down for more. It wasn’t gentle, the way he kissed you, but desperate and full of passion. Needy. Wanting.

Bucky wanted this just as much as you did.

His tongue swept into your mouth so easily, as if to dominate you despite the fact that you were the one hovering above him, your leg casually thrown over his. That didn’t last for long. With a gentle push, you were on your back for him, his lips kissing a blazing trail down your neck and chest. The thin material of your tank top did nothing to hide the flush of excitement creeping up in all the spots he kissed. 

When Bucky reached the collar of your tank top, he glanced up at you, almost as if to ask permission, and you sweetly threaded your fingers through his hair before you roughly buried his face right into your cleavage. He audibly groaned at that, and he tore – actually _tore_ – the flimsy fabric from your body, his hands coming up to palm your breasts before he took one of your nipples into his mouth.

It was a stark contrast, the feeling of cold metal pinching one of your nipples while the other was surrounded by the wet heat of his mouth, and it sent you reeling. He wasn’t gentle with that either, using his teeth on the pert bud before he moved to the other to do the same, and you only gripped his hair tighter at the pleasurable feeling.

You were very nearly about to protest at how slowly he was moving when he started to kiss his way further down, from your ribs to your stomach and navel, and then he was at the hem of your shorts, pulling the elastic back just enough for his hot breath to hint at what was coming next.

It was on purpose, and it was infuriating. 

“Stop teasing me,” you demanded, tugging at his hair.

The smirk he gave you was playful and taunting. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” 

You huffed in exasperation, because he knew damn well what you wanted.

“Come on, doll,” he coaxed, tugging your shorts down just the tiniest bit, and he pressed a kiss to the soft skin right above your panties. His eyes were dark and fixed upon yours. “I won’t know unless you tell me.”

There was something about the way he was looking at you that made you forget yourself, forget your pride. Your voice was breathy when you told him, “Use your mouth on me.”

It wasn’t a request, but it wasn’t exactly an order, either. Bucky didn’t seem to mind either way. When he tugged again at your shorts, you started to lift your hips up to help him get them off, but he didn’t need you to. Of course he didn’t, it was _him_. Instead, he pulled them off so easily, you barely even noticed that he took your panties right along with them.

“Good girl,” he praised you, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh – so close to where you wanted him, but not quite, and it made you whine a little. You never knew you needed his praise until now, and it was driving you crazy in the best way. “You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond before he licked a broad stripe from slit to clit, and you threw your head back, your fingers never leaving his hair. “God, Bucky—”

His tongue worked downright magic on you, exploring your folds so skillfully; and then he swirled it around your clit before he sucked gently, and then a bit harder when he found that you liked that even better. You squirmed and writhed under him, so much that he had to lay an arm over your abdomen to hold you down – his metal one, which was cold against your overheated, sweat-slicked skin.

The chill of it made you gasp, but not as much as when he slid not one but two fingers inside of you right off the bat. He knew that one wouldn’t have been enough with how absolutely drenched you were and he’d barely even started.

“Fuck, you’re _soaked_ ,” he growled, curling his fingers right up into the place you wanted them most. Your hands in his hair finally loosened, only to fumble aimlessly in the sheets. He was gentle at first, but he quickly discovered that, just like before, the rougher he was with you, the louder you got.

You liked it rough.

He did too.

Bucky used his arm on your abdomen to add a little bit of external pressure, and then he finger-fucked you into oblivion, absolutely loving how responsive you were for him. All you could do was moan, unable to think or even speak with the heel of his hand slick against your clit as he brought you to the brink. You were squeezing down on him so tightly that he knew you were close.

“Gonna come for me, sweetheart?” he asked you, sounding smug as hell but you couldn’t even manage a snarky response like you normally would have because his voice was what sent you over the edge. You came so hard, you might have even screamed but you couldn’t be sure; at the very least, you made an absolute mess all over his hand and sheets.

Bucky slowly withdrew his fingers from your soaked core and you watched with baited breath as he licked them clean – as if that wasn’t just the hottest sight you’d ever seen.

When he leaned down to kiss you again, slowly and leisurely, you responded in kind. You could taste yourself, but you loved it. You loved knowing that he was just as dirty as you were. 

Your arms slid around his neck almost instinctively to pull him closer, but he didn’t settle in between your legs just yet. Instead, he broke away to slide off his pajama pants. His cock was thick and rock hard, leaking precum, and you couldn’t help but reach out for him.

He smacked your hand away, and you looked up at him in surprise.

The low timbre of his voice made your throat go dry. “Not yet.”

“Why?” you asked dumbly. 

“Because I’m not done with you yet,” he said, like it was obvious. Then he buried his face between your thighs once again, and he didn’t let up until you came for a second time, gushing into his mouth and he drank every fucking drop.

The way Bucky settled in between your legs was so natural, like he’d done this with you before. He didn’t seem to expect you to return the favour, going down on him, as happy as you would have been to do so; instead, when the tip of his hard cock brushed against your slick folds, you looked up into his eyes through your lashes.

His pupils were blown with lust, but the pale blue of his irises was still clear as day. He kept his eyes on yours the entire time he sheathed himself inside of you, and it was romantic, in a way. While that was absolutely not what you’d originally planned for, you couldn’t help but give into it. You indulged him, just a little - and at the same time, you indulged yourself. 

Only when he was seated fully inside did your eyes finally flutter shut from the pleasure. Despite how much he’d prepared you, the stretch of him was still a pleasant burn.

“Look at me.”

The sheer command in his voice sent a shiver through you, and you did as he asked, meeting his eyes once again just as he slowly dragged every thick inch of him back out of you, stopping right at the tip.

“Stop teasing—” you started to say again, heatedly, when he slammed right back inside you with such force that you had to clutch desperately at his shoulders, gasping, “Jesus, Bucky—”

He pressed wet, messy kisses to your throat as he thrust into you at a particularly brutal pace. He knew you could take it. His body was pressed flush against yours, and you just couldn’t hold still as you took everything he gave you. Your hands were everywhere: cupping his face, grasping his shoulders, grabbing his ass, embedded in the sheets. He particularly liked it when your nails dug into his back.

Bucky neither wanted nor needed to be gentle, because the way you’d looked at him as he entered you was enough. This was more than just sex. He felt it, and he knew you did, too.

He used his metal hand to hike your leg up higher around his waist as he drove into you, and it wasn’t long before the new angle had you seeing stars – and him, too. He was so, so deep inside you, hitting spots his fingers hadn’t been able to reach, and you were so wet for him, so wanting that neither of you could hold back anymore.

“Kiss me,” you gasped out and he readily complied, his lips meeting yours just before you fell apart for him so beautifully. He swallowed every single one of your moans as he kissed you deeply, and the feel of you squeezing down around him, so hot and tight and wet, sent him spiralling, too.

While Bucky had always prided himself in his self-control in bed, he wasn’t able to hold himself back long enough to pull out in time. You felt too good, too perfect around him that he could only groan against your lips, spilling inside you – but he somehow managed to pull out halfway through, his cum burning hot on your stomach.

The sight of you before him was wonderfully wicked. He’d marked you up, left a couple bruises here and there which you loved just as much as he did – but what he enjoyed most was the way you were positively _glowing_ from how thoroughly he’d fucked you. You had the loveliest flush across your face and chest, and you were looking up at him with half-lidded eyes and a dopey smile. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you told him hoarsely. “I’m on birth control.”

“I didn’t do it in time anyway,” he admitted.

At that, you laughed. It was a soft, breathy laugh that he’d never heard from you before, and he loved the sound of it. 

“I’ll go get something to, uh,” he gestured to the mess he’d made on your stomach, “clean you up.”

When he went to get up, however, your small hand caught his wrist and you pulled him back into bed.

“That’s okay,” you reassured him, getting to your feet. “I’ll do it.”

Bucky looked at you unsurely, and he was hesitant to lay back down. There was something about the way you spoke to him that unnerved him just a little. Your voice had taken a slightly harder edge to it, now, like you’d just realized how open you’d been with him, and now you were putting your walls back up.

You didn’t want him to take care of you. Not this time. No, this time you wanted to do it yourself.

As he watched you make your way to the bathroom, his cum dripping down the insides of your thighs, he couldn’t say he didn’t like the sight. What worried him, however, was that you were putting some distance between the two of you again, just like you always did.

When you came back after a couple of minutes, he realized that maybe he was just overthinking things. You snuggled up to him. You rest your head on his chest and he wrapped his arms around you while the two of you whispered things to each other – sweet, little things that only lovers would say. 

Slowly, he found himself drifting off to the sound of your voice.

* * *

When Bucky woke the next morning, he knew that his gut intuition had been right after all. He hadn’t been overthinking things. He _knew_ something was off. He knew, but he tried to pretend that he didn’t anyway. He gave you the benefit of a doubt.

The sheets where you’d been sleeping just hours before were long cold. You weren’t in the little motel room at all, despite the fact that your two shared bags were still here.

When he tried your cell phone, it rang a couple of times and then went to voicemail. You were screening his calls. You didn’t text him back, either.

He didn’t find out where you were until about an hour later, when Tony rang him to ask why you were back at the compound when there was another lead to follow up.

That was what Bucky had reported last night, after he’d watched you drink yourself into a stupor. He’d seen how badly you were handling the situation, and he knew you’d need some space, so he made something up. He lied for you.

Christ, he should have known that this was going to happen. He thought you were kidding when you asked him to make you forget – kidding, or at least maybe only been half-serious but you weren’t kidding at all. 

You used him. 

That hurt.

The worst part was that he knew you’d felt the connection between the two of you. He’d seen it in your eyes and on your face as he made love to you. You knew that there was _something_ there, but you didn’t care.

That hurt even more. 


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky and Natasha were the first to return.

The sun was just starting to sink under the horizon when they found you curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around you, your tablet in hand, focusing intently on the screen as you followed up on a lead. You didn’t even notice that they were back.

After your little breakdown, you’d gotten right back into work mode, even though your voice had still been so rough from crying. You gave everyone directions and pointed out places that needed to be checked out, took down notes, and communicated with HQ where needed. 

You acted every bit as prim and professional and perfect as always. This time, however, it was painfully obvious that you were using the mission as a distraction. You were immersing yourself in it. Your mask starting to drop, and every single one of them could see it.

Tony knew it well. He’d known you the longest – met you when you still worked for SHIELD. Over the years, you’d almost become like a daughter to him, but not quite; a niece, maybe, and he was the creepy old uncle. You teased him about it sometimes, even now.

You’d met Natasha shortly after that, on a mission involving one of your fellow SHIELD operatives who went rogue. She always knew that there was something fake about the way you presented yourself, and it was one reason why she never really liked you. She saw too much of herself in you. In recent days, though, she’d grown to like that about you and, when plied with alcohol, she appreciated your honesty.

Of course, Steve and Bucky also caught glimpses of who you were behind the mask here and there. Every now and then on a mission, you’d say something out of the ordinary, or react in a strange way – but it never really fell into place until the few months that you were intimate with them. Then things started to make a lot more sense.

Steve knew some things about you, but not much. You rarely showed him how damaged you really were. He saw how troubled you were in the middle of the night from your nightmares, and he held you in his arms, soothed you, and whispered sweet nothings into your ear until you went back to sleep. He never pried because he had his own demons, and while he was open with you about his, you never told him anything about yours.

However, Bucky was inarguably the one who knew you the most, even though you didn’t tell him much, either. The difference was that behind closed doors, when it was just you and him, he got to see the one side of you that was broken beyond repair. You begged him to punish you, to be rough with you, to leave bruises and hurt you because you really, truly believed that you deserved it. You begged him to break you, but you didn’t even realize that you already were. Whatever you’d been through, it ran deep. He knew it well, because he was the same. 

Bucky’s eyes were soft as he took you in on the sofa. You’d been so stunning earlier – so smiling and happy, chatting animatedly in a language he’d never heard you speak before – but now you looked haunted. He’d seen you like this before. There were dark circles under your eyes, red-rimmed from crying, eyeliner smudged just a little. It was a far change from the typically put-together version of you, the _public_ you, he’d seen just hours prior. 

Even Natasha noticed the change, but out of consideration for you, neither of them commented on it.

When you finally noticed their movements in your peripherals – sluggish, even for you – you realized that they’d made it back. Your voice was flawlessly cheerful when you asked, “How’d you go?”

Natasha let out a sigh. “Pretty boring. No new leads.”

“That’s a bummer,” you told her, setting your tablet to the side to stretch the muscles in your arms and back. You’d been hunched over for hours, now. “Maybe we'll have some new intel tomorrow.”

“I’m sure we will,” she reassured you.

You met her gaze for a moment – kind and full of care – and gave her a small smile. “Yeah.”

Then she left you alone with Bucky, loudly announcing along the way that she desperately needed a shower. On her way to her room, she shot Bucky a pointed look that you didn’t notice because you were already immersed in your tablet again.

You didn’t want to be alone with him. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, because you did. You trusted him with your life. You just knew that he had some choice words to say, just like Steve had and, after today’s events, you were mentally exhausted. You just couldn’t deal with it. Not today.

When he flopped down on the couch next to you, though, it caught you by surprise. It was just like the two of you used to do back at the compound, once upon a time. His arm was slung around the back of the sofa, behind you, not quite resting on your shoulders but you could still feel the body heat radiating off of him. 

You glanced up from your tablet to see him fiddling with the television remote with his free hand. It took him a couple of tries to figure it out, but then he hit the correct button and the screen powered on. It was some action movie by the sounds of it, but you weren’t really paying attention. Instead, you were focused solely on him, trying to figure out what he was up to, but he didn’t even bat an eye at your keen scrutiny of him.

“What are you doing?” you asked suspiciously.

He nodded over to the TV like it was obvious. “Watchin’ a movie.”

Well, clearly, but why was he doing it here? Natasha had a TV in her room, so you assumed that he had one in his, too. He didn’t need to watch anything out here. Was he trying to get you to drop your guard before he ripped you apart like Steve had earlier? Because if he was, you had no qualms about slapping the shit out of him like you’d done with his best friend.

Your eyes were pretty much burning a hole in his head by the time he finally turned to look – really look – at you. Your brows were furrowed, and you clearly didn’t trust how casual he was being with you. He didn’t blame you. Your relationship was in shambles.

“Why?” was all you could manage. 

Your thoughts were racing, anxious – but you couldn’t deny how gorgeous he looked in this soft lighting, his chestnut hair half-pulled up in a bun, scruff on his face as always. You missed the burn of it on your thighs. He was wearing of his henleys, a red one, and you recognized it; how you hadn’t noticed it earlier was beyond you, but then again, this entire day had been a mess.

The most surprising part was that he didn’t seem angry like Steve had been. While there was the slightest hint of annoyance on Bucky’s face, what stood out the most for you was his concern. His eyes were a soft baby blue that you’d always loved, and they were kind. Not angry. Not judgmental.

“Thought you might want some company,” he responded, pulling half of your blanket across his lap: a clear message that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Of course, Bucky knew that there were a couple of different ways you might react. You could just get up and storm off, like you often used to do when he got too close. You might tell him to fuck right off, too, which you’d done once or twice. Or you could settle in and watch the movie with him or even just _alongside_ him, if you wanted to keep working. You’d done that plenty of times, too.

Tonight, he had a feeling that you’d choose the latter – and you did.

He knew you.

He knew that you didn’t want to be alone. Your breakdown earlier over comms was bad enough, but knowing you’d immersed yourself in your work as a distraction today was even worse. You were too proud to ask for help, and he knew that too. You’d never go to any of them for help, at least not directly, but if he extended you a life raft, he knew you’d take it.

He knew, because he was the same.

“Well,” you said with a huff, setting your tablet down on the coffee table, “You could at least find something interesting to watch, then.”

The corners of his lips curled up in a small smile, one that you didn’t fail to notice, and you found yourself smiling back just a little.

When he relinquished the remote to you, he let you back in despite everything you’d done.

* * *

By the time Tony and Steve returned, it was around nine o’clock. They’d gotten caught up on a stakeout that they thought would only take an hour. Instead, it took four. Their communication with you – Command – had stopped a little after they started their stakeout, but you’d had a particularly strenuous day and stakeouts were the least exciting part of any mission. They didn’t need you for it. 

The moment they were in the door, Natasha was shushing them.

“You boys are _way_ too loud,” she hissed at them. “Keep it down.”

“Why? Old man Barnes too cranky to—” Tony started to say, but then Natasha nodded to the sofa and made her way back to her room.

You were curled up into Bucky’s side, sound asleep. His warm arm was wrapped snugly around your shoulders as his fingers threaded through your hair, trying to keep you asleep for as long as possible despite their loud arrival. He’d pulled the blanket around you, but about half of his body was still underneath it, too.

Bucky looked at Tony first, who just rolled his eyes and made his way to his bedroom. Inwardly, though, Tony was glad that you were able to get some rest. You needed it, especially after today. He knew what memories seeing someone from your past would have dredged up, and he felt guilty that he’d dragged you right back into it all. He wished that he hadn’t had to.

Then Bucky turned his eyes to Steve, who looked – well, not pleased, to say the least. They’d never talked about you since that night, and even now, four months later, you were still a sore subject. In some ways, they were both still processing what had happened. What you’d done to both of them was an astonishingly selfish thing to do – not to mention that the moment you returned, you spent the night with Natasha, almost as if to rub it in their faces.

On paper, things were worse than ever.

In practice, things were an entirely different animal.

It definitely pissed Bucky off to some degree, but he could hold onto that for now. You clearly weren’t in a good headspace if your behaviour over the last couple of days was any indication. He was patient. He could wait.

It pissed Steve off, too, and he’d lashed out because of it. Steve contributed a large part of your breakdown to the fact that he’d taken his anger out on you. He could have killed you today. The fall wouldn’t have hurt him at all, but you – you were normal. Human. Fragile. He’d pulled you back in time, but that only served to drive a wedge even further between the two of you. He had no right to be so angry with you, not really. You weren’t his girlfriend. You never had been, and you never would be.

His jaw tensed as he took in the sight of you and Bucky cuddling on the sofa together like it was a normal, everyday thing to do.

It was, once. Steve never used to care before, because the three of you had known each other for so long. Truth be told, he couldn’t think of a time that you and Bucky hadn’t been handsy with each other. Not in an intimate way, of course; at least not at first. It was always friendly, like Bucky’s arm around your shoulders, or your feet in his lap. Harmless. Easy. Casual.

Steve understood why. Bucky needed it after everything he’d done. He needed to feel close to someone, anyone, and you were more than willing to provide that.

For you, though, Steve never really understood why. You never opened up to him a whole lot about anything. Even when the two of you were sleeping together, you kept your distance. You let him hold you and compliment you and praise you, but you never let him in. Not really.

Maybe you did with Bucky. He’d never really know.

What he did know was that in this moment, seeing the two of you – it stung. It hurt. But he also knew that you needed it. You needed comfort, especially after you’d been so upset that you cried for ten agonizingly long minutes over comms. And now, with Bucky looking at him so apologetically, he couldn’t find it in him to be angry anymore.

He had to let it go.

You did what you did for a reason. There were some things that you couldn’t deal with on your own. Most people went to therapy. Instead of the VA, you went to Steve, and Bucky, and Natasha, and anyone else you wanted to sleep with. He judged you for it, but he didn’t want to. That was how you were. That was how you coped.

Steve hesitantly approached, not to join the two of you but just to take comfort in your presence, just for a moment. He was sorry for earlier. He hated how he acted towards you, and he wanted to make it up to you. He _missed_ you.

It was a split-second decision for him to kiss your forehead. When he leaned down, Bucky smoothed your hair out of the way, almost like he knew exactly what Steve was going to do – and Steve shot him a look for it. It was apprehensive. Bucky didn’t exactly look comfortable, either.

They both still loved you, and they were both making compromises.

After his lips ghosted against your forehead, Steve went to leave, and he didn’t look back until he made it to the edge of the room. Then he turned around to take one last look at you. The expression on your face was so calm and peaceful, just like when you’d shared his bed so many months ago. Steve hated knowing that Bucky had seen that part of you, too.

He glanced over at his best friend again, but it wasn’t with anger or apprehension this time.

It was a truce.

* * *

For once, you woke at a regular time. It was a little after seven in the morning according to the clock on the bedside table. When you looked around, though, you didn’t recognize the room you were in. It was similar to Natasha’s, but not exactly the same – similar furnishings, so likely the same suite, but it was definitely someone else’s room.

Hesitantly, you brought one of the pillows to your nose and inhaled.

This was Bucky’s room.

The man in question, however, was nowhere to be found. You vaguely remembered watching some stupid movie with him on the sofa last night, but aside from that, you weren’t sure what happened. You didn’t drink, for once, and for the first time in a long time you didn’t have a single nightmare. All you knew was that you’d ended up in here somehow, and you slept soundly through the night.

Had you slept with him? You were still fully clothed in your t-shirt and jeans from yesterday, so that was unlikely. Maybe you just shared his bed, for whatever reason. Even still, the way you crept out of his room was like a walk of shame, like you had something to hide.

You didn’t, but you were caught anyway.

“Morning, princess,” came Tony’s cheerful voice from the kitchen behind you.

You grimaced, but as always you plastered on your effortless mask, spinning around with a cheerful smile. “Oh, hey, Tony! Didn’t hear you guys get in last night. Did you come back late?”

Tony grinned at you, the kind of knowing grin that you absolutely despised. What he knew, though, you weren’t sure, but you had a feeling you were about to find out.

“Not too late,” he said offhandedly, taking a bite of toast. “Not that you noticed. You were pretty cozy on the couch with Barnes.”

That immediately put you on the defensive, and you crossed your arms across your chest. Your tone had much more bite to it than you meant it to have when you asked, “So what if I was?”

Tony clearly picked up on your body language and held his hands up in a show of surrender. “Easy. Everyone’s out on recon. It’s just us, kiddo.”

At that, you relaxed a little bit. There wasn’t anyone else to overhear your conversation. You could speak openly.

“Are you okay?” Tony asked you, slowly approaching, like you were a caged animal. “You were pretty upset yesterday.”

“What?” His question caught you off guard. You thought you’d kept up appearances pretty well, even after seeing Dario. “No, I wasn’t.”

The way Tony was looking at you – sympathetic, kind – made you realize that you hadn’t kept up appearances at all. His hand was gentle on your upper arm when he said softly, “You didn’t mute your comms.”

It took a moment or two for you to figure out what he meant. A flash of horror came across your face as you yanked your arm out of his grasp. 

They heard your breakdown. All of them. How long had you been crying? Five minutes? Ten? You weren’t sure. You’d absolutely lost it though, and it was an ugly cry, with snot and mascara running down your face which wound up smeared all over your hands when you tried to pull yourself back together.

And then, when you finally managed to, you ran command like nothing had happened. You gave directions and orders and no one had said a thing.

No wonder Bucky had reached out to you last night. He knew. They all did.

A flush of humiliation came across your face, betraying the façade you so liked to use.

“I’m _fine_ ,” you bit out, but your voice wavered all the same. “It was a minor setback. That’s all.”

Tony’s lips were pressed together in a firm line, clearly doubting you, but he took you at your word. He always took you at your word, despite everything you’d been through. You might not have always coped in the best way – he certainly understood _that,_ the playboy he’d once been – but he trusted your judgement. 

“If it’s too much,” he said carefully, offering you an out if you needed one, “Just let me know. We’ll figure something out. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”

Tony Stark didn’t apologize. You knew that, so to hear him say something so close to an apology – to actually admit that he was _wrong_ – it only furthered your resolve to complete this mission. He wouldn’t have been so insistent that you join them if he didn’t need you.

You had a duty to help. You were _needed._

The smile you gave him was a little teary, but genuine. “I’ll be alright. You know me.”

He did know you. He knew you’d be alright. You always were in the end.

Tony clapped you on the shoulder, then, more roughly this time as he escorted you to the kitchen. “Let’s get you some breakfast, huh?”

“I want pancakes,” you told him, and when he gave you a look, you shrugged. “I mean, you kind of owe it to me, considering.”

At that, Tony grinned at you again. It wasn’t a knowing one this time, but one of understanding – and he made you your favourite pancakes just like he’d done plenty of times in the past. He knew that you didn’t have to help with this, but you were doing it anyway. He knew what it was costing you, and he appreciated your help. He appreciated _you._

* * *

After breakfast, you popped your earpiece into your ear and greeted everyone cheerfully, like that was the norm. If they weren’t going to acknowledge your breakdown, then neither would you. “Hello, boys and girls. Ready to get to work? I’ve got a lead.”

“Dibs,” Natasha responded automatically.

Tony groaned. “Come on, Nat, I’ve been itching to use these new ion blasters—” 

“No, Tony,” came Steve’s authoritative voice, which made your breath hitch just a little. It made you tense to hear his voice, because the last time you’d heard it, he’d been so angry with you. “We’re a team.”

“So diplomatic,” Bucky muttered under his breath, and you couldn’t help but snort.

“That’s not very professional of you, _Command_ ,” Tony sassed you, and that made you cough in an attempt to stifle your laughter.

“Check out the warehouse at 87, La Costa. Satellites picked up some activity there overnight,” you explained, pulling up some more information on your tablet. “They’ve been using that place for a while.”

You recognized that warehouse, of course. Some of the intel you anonymously gave to Tony involved the previous places you’d been, and this was one of them. You’d been following their activity via satellite over the last few days and it looked like some big movements had occurred overnight.

It was a short commute, and you gave directions to the four of them as they all made their way to the warehouse. Tony and Natasha had gone their separate ways for recon today, but Bucky and Steve had paired up together for whatever reason. Maybe they wanted to see the sights. Neither of them had been to Cancun before, but the rest of you had. You didn’t pay it much mind.

“On scene,” Steve advised, and you pulled up some nearby CCTV footage to see the two of them canvassing the exterior of the building. They were clearly on edge. Steve noticed the camera you’d taken control of and gave a little nod, which made you tense just a little; but then Bucky told him to keep moving.

“Breach the south entrance,” you ordered. “Look for the red door. That’s where they keep their ledgers.”

As soon as you said it, however, you realized that you’d given away a bit too much information. That wasn’t something Tony’s satellites would have picked up. The long pause over comms let you know that you weren’t the only one to notice your little slip-up.

They had no intention of going in as a team, you realized, when the loud sound of one of them kicking in the door broke the silence. You lost visual. You could hear the sounds of a fight; likely some lower-level cartel guys guarding the area. They were, of course, no match for your boys. It turned you on a little, as much as you hated to admit it.

“A red door, huh,” Natasha commented, jarring you from your thoughts. You caught a glimpse of her running into the building. “On it.”

“Oh, come on,” Tony whined. “I thought we were a _team_ , Cap.”

“Sorry, Tony,” Steve responded, his breathing just a little ragged. “Building’s all clear. We’ve got the goods.” 

Tony’s loud, pointed sigh made you laugh, and even when he sassed you again for your lack of professionalism, you didn’t care. It felt good to fight back.

* * *

That afternoon, everyone returned all around the same time. The four of them had met up at the warehouse, where they’d obtained a few boxes – ledgers that you were extremely familiar with. They were coded in a way that only you would be able to interpret.

“It’s gonna take days to crack this code,” Bucky commented, flipping through pages upon pages of ledgers. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Bucky knew a lot of languages from his Winter Soldier days, but he didn’t recognize any of this. 

You and Tony shared a look, then. You knew he’d keep your secret, but you didn’t really see any point in keeping it quiet anymore. You’d still keep most of it under lock and key, of course, but even you realized that you were starting to slip up by mentioning little details that you otherwise shouldn’t have known. The red door today was one, and the ledgers were another – and Dario was a loose end. 

The truth would come out sooner or later, so you opted for sooner.

“Good thing we’ve got a subject matter expert, then,” you told him, pulling one of the ledgers out of the box. This particular hardcover was blue, and you recognized it well. 

“Who?” Steve asked you. There was still a slight undercurrent of tension between the two of you, but you ignored it, flipping to a certain page. Then you held it out to him to read.

Your signature was at the bottom of it. Despite the horrors that drove you to sign your name upon the page, you couldn’t help but feel a little smug. This time, it was a good thing that your name was there, because the five of you were going to take the cartel down from the inside.

Your voice was airy and light when you said, “Me.”


	9. Chapter 9

Your explanation to your teammates was thorough, but detached – almost like it wasn’t actually you. Pure dissociation.

Your name was on those ledgers because handled the bookkeeping for the cartel, but it wasn’t just that. You organized shipments, and then, to ensure that they were handled satisfactorily, you oversaw operations on the ground without mercy. You lined up potential buyers, made a network of them, actually – and in order not to get caught, you even bribed officials.

You laid the groundwork for an empire.

The news didn’t seem to bother Natasha at all. She’d done worse, and even if she hadn’t, she wasn’t one to judge. Never had been. People did what they did to survive, and you were no different.

Your boys, however, reacted in the complete opposite way.

“You _worked_ for them?” Bucky asked you in an incredulous tone that you’d only ever heard from him once before. “Even knowing what they do, you chose to keep—?”

The shipments you organized were of women.

Just like Romania.

Just like yourself.

You pressed your lips together in a firm line. You’d done more than just _work_ for them, but that was a story for another day. Either way, you’d chosen to do it. “Yes.”

Bucky had killed so many people and done so many awful things, but most of them hadn’t been by choice. He knew you had a choice, and you’d done it anyway. And you were so casual about it, too, admitting that you traded people like livestock. You traded _lives._

He’d been put into containment and forced to do things he never would have done. You’d made that same thing happen to other people. The circumstances were different, but the end result was the same.

You did the _exact same thing_ that Hydra forced upon him – took away his will.

He took it personally.

The way Bucky said your name made it sound like a curse, and he was on his feet, slamming the ledger in his hands down onto the kitchen table along with the rest. The table creaked under the sheer power behind it.

“What the hell is _wrong_ with you?”

You’d heard that from him before, too, just once – except you didn’t react badly this time. Instead, you were calm. Too calm. It was an eerie sort of calm that Bucky had only seen from you on that balcony in Iceland, and it gave him that same sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. 

“I did what I had to do.”

That set him off.

“Bullshit,” he spat, rounding on you. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. You’re just as bad as Hydra. No one _has_ to—” 

Steve’s hand was suddenly firm in the middle of Bucky’s chest, holding him back, and it disarmed him. Neither of you thought that he was actually going to hurt you, but he was definitely getting close to that point. Even Steve could see that. The fact that Steve had intervened made Bucky realize that, too.

When Bucky shot him a look, Steve slowly lowered his hand. A muscle in Bucky’s jaw ticked, then, and he took a step back, refusing to look at you.

What he’d done with you – _you,_ the exact same kind of person who _made him like this—_

“Why don’t we all just take a breather, huh?” Tony spoke up in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, not that it worked at all. “Come on. Let’s take five.”

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice. He was already halfway out of the room by the time Tony finished talking, and you swallowed thickly as you watched him leave. When the suite door slammed shut behind him, you flinched.

Then your eyes moved from the doorway to Steve, who looked just as shaken as you felt. You knew with one look that he wanted nothing to do with you, not anymore. You’d put them both through so much, and you’d finally reached the breaking point. It was bound to happen sometime. It made sense.

Honestly, you should have expected this, but you were an idiot and thought that they’d understand like they’d done so many times in the past. Of course they wouldn’t. You weren’t a good person. You never had been.

It was clear by the expression on his face that Steve felt like he didn’t know you at all. In most ways, he didn’t. Whatever tension there had been between the two of you, now it was even worse than before.

Then Steve averted his eyes and followed Bucky outside. The door didn’t slam shut behind him, but he didn’t shut it gently, either. You kept your head held high anyway. You wouldn’t crumble over this. Not now. Not with an audience.

Natasha reached across the table and squeezed your hand, a small gesture of support. She didn’t know everything that had transpired between the three of you, but she knew enough. Your friendship – _relationship_ – with them was fractured, and she’d do what she could for you. She, at least, was still your friend.

“You okay?” Tony asked you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you replied automatically, giving them both a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m fine. You know me.”

Except you weren’t. You clearly weren’t, but Tony trusted your judgement just as always.

Natasha did, too.

That was a mistake.

* * *

Bucky didn’t return that night.

Steve did, but it was late, well into the early hours of the morning.

You weren’t sure where they’d gone, but it didn’t matter. You hadn’t been able to sleep, so you had a few drinks from the mini-bar and found yourself back with the ledgers on the kitchen table. Truth be told, you hadn’t managed to do much of anything for the rest of the day. Part of it was because you were rusty with the code, but you just couldn’t concentrate like this. You hadn’t managed to decode more than two pages over the last few hours.

You were angry. You were upset. You were bitter.

You’d finally opened up about your past, and they’d rejected you. Both of them.

Even still, you felt a shred of hope when you heard Steve’s familiar footfalls. He walked hesitantly into the brightly-lit kitchen, almost like he wasn’t sure who was still awake.

Bucky wasn’t with him.

When Steve saw it was you, it didn’t seem to be much of a surprise. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come and you didn’t know what to say to him, either. You stared at each other in complete silence – hesitant, guarded, both of you – before he finally breezed right past you to his room without a word.

You didn’t bid him goodnight.

* * *

It was easy to fuck Natasha Romanoff.

It wasn’t that _she_ was easy, but the fact that it was _you_ fucking her that made it easy. The two of you never really got along, but you worked just fine together on missions. You could do teamwork, even if you didn’t like who it was you were working with. Due to the nature of the job, you’d still have each other’s backs. That was what you did in this job. You took care of your own. 

She still would, even after she learned what kind of person you were.

At first, the fact that you’d so easily toyed with her friends’ hearts irritated her just as much as it intrigued her. What kind of person would be willing to use people like that for her own gain – like her? She didn’t know the specifics. All she knew was that both Steve and Bucky were head over heels for you, disgustingly so. She was an observant person, and the fact that you managed to use them so easily and neither of them noticed – well, it made sense.

She’d seen right through it, though.

Your touch on Steve’s shoulder would linger just a little too much. The way his eyes would meet yours and you’d bite your lip or wink a little – it was suspicious. 

You’d pull a stray hair from Bucky’s jacket with such familiarity. You touched him too easily. You’d send him a quick, dangerous look that he’d return all the same.

You flirted with both of them. No, you did more than just flirt. She knew you were fucking both of them. It was obvious to her, but not to anyone else. No one was ever as observant.

It pissed her off, because her friends weren’t playthings and that was exactly how you treated them. To her, it was a blessing that you’d been assigned to this mission with her. She could finally exchange the words that had been burning in her throat for months. She wasn’t the type to intervene, normally, but Steve and Bucky were damaged – damaged like _her_ – and if she was in the same spot, she’d trust them to do the same. She knew that they would do the same for her. 

There was clear tension the second you entered the meeting room. Something had happened between the three of you, and she didn’t know what. All she knew was that Steve and Bucky had been even worse than ever since you left; they _pined_ over you in a way that was absolutely ridiculous.

So she decided to psych you out.

“We missed you,” Natasha greeted you, leaning in to give you a hug. You stilled for the briefest of moments, before you hugged her right back like it was the most natural thing in the world. If you wanted to play it that way, then she’d escalate it – and she whispered into your ear, “Try not to fuck things up this time.”

She felt you stiffen when she pulled away, and smirked at you.

Then the most radiant, sickeningly sweet smile came across your face, and she knew you’d won. You won in sheer fucking diplomacy, because none of her colleagues even figured out a thing. They thought it was just a game the two of you played. 

“Mind your business, Romanoff,” you told her, friendly as all get-out. Joking. Teasing. Like the two of you were such great friends.

Natasha knew how to play games. Turns out, you did too.

* * *

The first couple of days after you and Natasha arrived in Cancun, you still weren’t getting along that well – but the two of you sucked it up, because that was what people like you did. You worked together just fine, but you couldn’t stand being around each other. Neither of you showed a lick of honesty. It was an intricate game, one you played entirely too well. 

Then you sat down on the sofa with her one night and said something so blunt, it caught her off guard. “You’re a good agent, Romanoff. So am I. Truce?”

It was so stupidly honest the way you held out your pinky for a promise, like a child. It wasn’t a game anymore. It was obvious how tired you were of it. You were genuinely interested in getting along with her, getting to know her. For the first time in a very, very long time, Natasha let her guard down.

That night, you bonded over drinks. How many, in the end, neither of you were sure. You’d raided the mini bar in the suite and you were sure Tony’s bill for it would be astronomical, but neither of you cared. 

It was so easy, natural, the way her fingers interlaced with yours as she pulled you to her bedroom – like that was where you’d been sleeping the last three days, right along with her, not on the sofa bed. The two of you fell onto her plush mattress together, giggling about some stupid joke or another, and you lay like that for a long while.

The conversation flowed so easily between you both well into the early hours of the morning. You were drunk, and she was too, but in this moment – for the very first time – the two of you were entirely honest with each other. You let your walls down. You let her in, and she did the same with you. It was naïve and stupid and both of you knew better, but you did it all the same.

The soft glow of her bedside light illuminated her features in a way that made the breath hitch in your throat. She was beautiful. In your dazed, drunken mind, you couldn’t help but reach out and smooth away a stray lock of hair stuck to her cheek. Her skin was flushed and damp with sweat, as was yours from the sheer amount of alcohol the two of you had. You tucked the lock of hair behind her ear and, when you met her eyes – gorgeous green eyes illuminated by moonlight – your fingertips stilled. 

“It was in the way,” you told her nonchalantly.

Easy. Casual.

A few seconds passed as you took her in; cute, heart-shaped face, perfect brows and cheekbones, soft, kissable lips. She was gorgeous.

You caught her looking at you in a similar way.

Maybe you reached out first, or maybe it was her; neither of you could be sure. All you knew was that you were kissing her and she was kissing you right back. Her lips were soft on yours, not nearly as dominant as you’d expected from her but every bit as willing. It was your tongue that slid between her lips, not vice versa and it turned you on even more to know that she was letting you take the lead. 

Her hands were embedded in the fabric of your flimsy tank top, and with them she was pulling you closer. One of your hands was on the back of her neck, doing the same, and your other was raking down the side of her pajama-clad body.

“Safe word?” you breathed against her lips. While some partners might not have even known what that was, you were certain that she wasn’t one of them.

“Red,” she responded, pulling you down for another kiss. 

The pajamas disappeared so quickly, so frenzied that your alcohol-fuelled mind hadn’t been able to keep up. All that you could focus on was that she was letting you use her any way you liked. She was so pliable and wanting for you, let you pull her to her knees, spank her, ruin her, whisper any naughty thing your dirty mind could imagine about her and she never used her safe word. You loved how easy it was to mark her up with love bites and bruises, but she didn’t complain at all. Instead, she loved every second of it as you used your fingers and mouth and tongue to get her off not once, but twice.

Then Natasha had you on your back, and she dropped the submissive act. She shoved two fingers deep inside of you – no preparation, but you didn’t need it and she could just _tell_ – and, with her lips brushing against your ear, she praised you. She told you how perfect you’d been for her, and that you were so _good_ , even when you were so spread open like this, letting her touch so deeply inside of you—

And she curled her fingers in just the way that sent you reeling. She made you come three times like that in rapid succession, making you _gush_ withhardly a break in between, just her dirty talk and her fingers and her sweet, sweet lips and tongue on your neck.

Your breathing was heavy and rough as you lay on your back, entirely spent, but she was insatiable. Your fingers were worn out, as was the rest of your body, but you told her to ride your face and she loved it. Her fingers were tight in your hair as she ground her perfect pussy against your mouth and tongue until she came harder than she had for the rest of the night – and finally, she was spent, too. 

The two of you cuddled, but only because it was expected. Neither of you needed it. It was just a one-night stand.

In the morning, the two of you agreed to share her room, but only because it was easier that way. Maybe you’d screw again, or maybe you wouldn’t. It didn’t matter either way. She liked that about you. She liked how casual and easy it was to be with you.

Then she found out who you really were deep down. You didn’t just use her friends – you used _everyone_. You once made a profit off of trading lives, and in a way, so did she. It made sense that Steve and Bucky had reacted the way they did; they were good people, with good hearts.

You weren’t. Neither was she.

You were up late – told her you couldn’t sleep. For an hour or two, she’d cuddled with you in bed. It was more friendly than intimate, meant to help share your burden, but it didn’t. She didn’t really expect it to, but it was worth a try.

She was up late, too. It wasn’t that she was caught up in feelings for you or anything of the sort – she was just thinking. At first, she thought that Steve and Bucky would come around eventually. They always did when it came to you, for one, and for two, they’d accepted Natasha’s own past when that had been revealed to the world. It certainly took some time, but they did come around.

With this, though, she wasn’t so sure.

When her bedroom door cracked open quietly, she glanced over at you from the book in her lap. Her beside light was still on. It illuminated your features, and there was something about the look on your face that bothered her. She didn’t know where the boys were, but it sounded like someone had recently returned. Some _one_. A single person.

She doubted it was Bucky. If anyone was going to return alone, it would have been Steve.

You didn’t have to say a thing for her to know what you wanted.

Natasha held a hand out to you – easy, casual – and when you took it, she pulled you into bed with her. You straddled her hips and kissed her, needy and desperate. You needed to forget.

She’d help you. She understood.

Her kisses were heady and full of passion, and they took your breath away despite the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. She rolled you onto your back, leaning against your side, half-hovering over you as one of her hands trailed down your body. You were wearing the same t-shirt from today’s mission, but you’d taken off your bra and changed into a pair of pajama shorts at some point.

Her legs were bare, smooth and silky against yours, and her tongue swept into your mouth at the same time her hand dove into your panties. You knew she could taste the alcohol, but she knew you weren’t drunk. You arched up into her with a gasp as her fingers slid through your folds and circled your clit, before she slowly slipped one inside – just one. She wouldn’t be gentle with you, but she wasn’t going to be rough. Not tonight. 

Natasha’s lips were a hot brand on your neck, and she eased her finger inside of you so expertly that it finally pulled you completely out of your anxious thoughts and into the present. As she hooked it up into your g-spot, she muttered things to you – things in Russian that you didn’t understand, but it was a pleasant distraction, just like her.

When you were finally wet enough, she added another finger and started to use the heel of her hand on your clit, too. You didn’t last long after that. She kissed you again when you started to get a little too loud, swallowing your moans as she brought you up, higher and higher, until you fell over the edge with a strangled cry against her lips. You grasped desperately at the sheets and squirmed against her as you came, hot tears finally spilling down your cheeks.

That was when your fingers hooked in the elastic of her panties, intending to return the favour, but she shook her head just slightly and offered you a sympathetic smile. The way you were looking up at her, with half-lidded, teary eyes and flushed, tear-stained cheeks, was trusting and genuine. It was probably the most honest you’d ever been with anyone in a long, long time.

Her denial of you wasn’t a rejection. It was a kindness.

“Try to sleep,” she told you, slowly withdrawing her hand from your slick heat.

You shivered just a little at the feeling – at the loss. 

Natasha wiped her fingers with some tissues on the bedside table, and then she nudged you over a little, onto your side. Her arm was slim and warm around your waist as she spooned you, pressing gentle kisses to your shoulders and the back of your neck as she held you flush against her body.

Maybe it was because of your orgasm, or maybe it was because she was warm, but you finally managed to drift off. Your nightmares that night were worse than ever, but Natasha was there to wake you up. She reassured you that everything was fine, and in your half-asleep mind, you believed her.

In the morning, you realized that it had been a lie, but you didn’t blame her for it. She let you believe, at least for a few short hours, that everything was okay.

It was a mercy.

Nothing was okay.

You left the suite at dawn with nothing but your duffel, as if to prove a point – you didn’t need them. You didn’t need anyone.

It was never because you didn’t care, but because you didn’t deserve them. You didn’t deserve any of it.

Three quick raps on the intricate door of a large mansion on the outskirts of Cancun sounded just after seven in the morning. When the door opened, you smiled sweetly and were greeted with a familiar, “ _Welcome back, Princesa_.”


	10. Chapter 10

_June 2016_

A month passed, during which you fell back into your old ways far too easily. It was almost like you’d never left. You weren’t a good person the last time you were here in Cancun, and you certainly weren’t one now, despite the fact that you’d worked with SHIELD and the Avengers over the last five years in a ridiculous attempt to make amends for your many misdeeds.

Now, it was like nothing had changed.

Except it had.

You still kept your phone hidden away in case you needed to reach out to Tony, but you didn’t. You were going to do this on your own from the inside. You could do it yourself. You didn’t need them. You didn’t need anyone.

What you especially didn’t need was to be the heiress to an empire.

Your father welcomed you back with open arms. He’d been angry for a long time after you’d left, but he eventually came to think that it was just a phase and that was exactly how you played it. Five years was a very long time to be a phase, but he believed you anyway, because you were his only child and he loved you. You used that fact to manipulate him, just like you always manipulated everyone else so skillfully.

His lieutenants, on the other hand, were far more suspicious and for good reason. You hadn’t exactly kept a low profile in your dealings as an Avenger, and your face was frequently on the news, especially after your background was released to the world. What was omitted from those documents was your connection to the cartel, and of course it was.

You once worked for the most secretive organization in the United States. No high-ranking US government official would ever let it become common knowledge that one of their SHIELD operatives was also heiress to the Carmesí Cartel. Something like that could very easily start a war.

In a moment of weakness, you turned the phone on once and only once. There were too many missed calls to count, let alone the messages. They were from Tony and Natasha, mostly, but even Sam and Wanda had sent you a couple. 

Your vision blurred with tears as you read through them:

_Where are you?_

_We miss you._

_Come back._

_We’re worried._

_Come home._

Home. You didn’t have a home. The mansion was your home once, but not anymore, and neither was the compound. Steve and Bucky had made it clear enough that you weren’t welcome there, not anymore. Neither of them had sent you a single message.

You could still remember the look of betrayal on Bucky’s face right before he stormed out of the room that night. The sheer hurt in those beautiful blue eyes of his wasn’t something you were able to shake. That same hurt was reflected on Steve’s face, too, and he hadn’t said a single word to you when he returned without Bucky.

You’d blown them off so easily, too many times to count – but they’d never done it to you until that night. 

You couldn’t blame them for it. You were an awful person. Neither of them even knew the whole story, yet, and they’d already rejected you, so why prolong the inevitable?

It felt so strange and unfamiliar to be back. The mansion was the same – you’d grown up here, after all – but everything else had changed. There were a lot of new faces to remember, but the most unsettling part of it all was returning to such opulence. You’d grown used to sharing run-down motel rooms and threadbare blankets and poor water pressure during your missions over the last few years. You’d grown used to having comradery in actual _friends_ , not people who just wanted to use you for your influence. You’d grown used to bonding with your teammates over doing good things. Not crime.

Nothing was good about this place. 

Not the designer clothing in your closet, which was sexy but tasteful. Not the sparkling diamond jewellery wore on the daily. Not the Egyptian cotton sheets, the plush bed, the bodyguards. 

Not even the sheer _wealth_ surrounding you, and you’d been raised with it all. You’d known these luxuries for the better part of your life, but now it was all so unfamiliar.

Still, you kept your head held high and fell right back into your work. You immersed yourself in it, just like you always did as a distraction. You coordinated shipments in pretty Alexander McQueen skirt suits and black patent Louboutins, and if someone disobeyed your orders on the ground—

Well, to say you were merciless was an understatement. 

Just like the last time.

Every now and then, you got the feeling that you were being watched. If you were, it wouldn’t have surprised you. Turning on the phone even just the once would have given Tony your location, something that you knew before you even did it. Maybe deep down you did want some help, but you’d never admit it, especially if you weren’t even aware of it yourself. 

It was a little after midnight, now. The warehouse was quiet and dark, with the only lighting coming from the moon outside along with a single lightbulb above the chair upon which you’d duct taped one of your new drug traffickers. 

A liar. A thief.

“I thought you said it was a hundred kilos,” you said emotionlessly, slowly trailing the tip of your handgun down the side of his face. He’d lied to you about the amount of cocaine he’d imported from Colombia – skimmed some off the top and tried to deceive you about it like you were an amateur.

“It—It was,” was his frantic reply. “I swear.”

“Was it?” you hummed, before you painfully gripped his hair in your free hand and pressed your Beretta into the tender flesh under his chin. “I don’t believe you.” 

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out. “It’s my family, they’re—”

“Shh, it’s alright,” you cooed, slowly lowering your weapon. Then you took a couple of leisurely steps away from him, musing thoughtfully, “Oh, I understand. These things do happen sometimes, don’t they?”

His teary eyes lit up at your compassionate response, at least until you lined up a shot. Then you put a bullet in his brain. 

His blood splattered messily onto your sleeveless cream-coloured dress and exposed thighs, but your only thought was that he’d ruined a perfectly good dress. It didn’t faze you at all that you’d just executed someone in cold blood. You’d done it too many times to count and, since you’d returned, your nightmares had ceased entirely. This was who you really were.

That was when you heard the sound of bodies crumpling to the floor, three of them: your bodyguards. Not that you ever really needed them.

When you spun around at the last minute, you held the business end of your gun right against someone’s forehead. Your finger was on the trigger, ready to make yet another kill, but when you saw who it was you just couldn’t bring yourself to pull it.

Bucky.

His lips were set in a grim line as he took you in. There were dark circles under your eyes despite your immaculately-applied makeup. Your diamond earrings and necklace sparkled in the moonlight, and although your delicate cream dress accentuated your curves and fit you like a glove, it was now stained a stark, bitter red.

As were your bare legs, so silky smooth that small droplets of blood were rolling down them, leaving trails of crimson behind.

As was your beautiful face, so blank and emotionless despite the blood spatter on your lips and cheeks.

There were so many things he could have asked. You’d just killed a man in cold blood, murdered someone so easily without a second thought. You were sadistic about it, too, having given him false hope before you shot him.

Your aim was, as always, impeccable. Now Bucky finally understood why.

You’d left a month ago with no explanation whatsoever, and they’d been tracking your movements ever since. They saw how easily you’d fallen back into your old life, how easily you took and traded lives. They watched you destroy yourself, and it hurt every single one of them.

Tony was a wreck. He blamed himself. He was the one who dragged you into this.

Natasha still saw herself in you and knew how easily she could have fallen back into her old ways, too. While she wished that there was more they could do for you, she knew that you were too much like her. You’d made up your mind and you weren’t coming back. 

Steve blamed himself, too, but in a different way. You’d been nothing but open and honest with them for what was probably the first time in your life, and he hadn’t even asked if you were okay. Instead, he left. He abandoned you.

So had Bucky, but _he_ didn’t feel guilty. No, he was angry - angry at you and angry at himself for a multitude of reasons.

There were so many things he could have asked, and yet, he didn’t say a thing. Instead, his eyes were hard on yours as he wordlessly dared you to pull the trigger. 

He knew you wouldn’t.

You did, too, and your handgun clattered to the ground. 

Quite the contrary, you wanted so desperately to reach out for him, to seek comfort in his arms like you’d done a thousand times before, but you didn’t. You didn’t deserve to be treated so kindly.

Bucky didn’t bother to kick away your weapon. It was clear you wouldn’t go for it again. Even still, both of you knew that you weren’t going to go with him willingly. That was the reason he was here, because why else would he be?

When his warm fingers wrapped around your throat, you didn’t resist. His touch was a hot brand against your skin, but gentle, almost kind: a lover’s touch.

Despite the fact that you knew what he was doing – that he was taking away your consciousness and, with it, whatever fight you may have put up not to go with him – you didn’t struggle. Instead, you leaned into the familiar way he compressed your arteries just like he’d done to you so many times in the past. Of course, _that_ always happened in bed when the two of you were in throes of passion, and mostly on the nights that he was especially rough with you. 

Never like this.

The memory was what made your breath hitch, not the pressure around your neck and certainly not when you started to see those familiar spots in your vision. Even now, knowing how much control he had over your body sent a surge of heat straight to your core.

Bucky’s eyes were on yours the entire time, searching for something, some emotion - and he found it just as your eyelids fluttered shut.

It only vaguely registered in your brain when your knees gave out. Bucky caught you easily with his vibranium arm around your middle before your soft body finally slumped against him. When he lifted you into his arms, he did it so carefully, like you might break.

Your last thought before everything faded to black was that Bucky felt like home.


	11. Chapter 11

_October 2014_

Steve had been to Italy once before, about seventy years prior, and it looked nothing like this. Instead of the leftover debris and destruction from the War, Tuscany was flourishing. The white sand beaches were clean, and the water was crystal clear, not mucked with blood and shrapnel like he’d once known it to be. On the rolling countryside were bustling vineyards, too many to count, and on the drive through you pointed out to him one in particular that had a wine with a lovely bouquet. 

He’d never been one for wine, but he thought the greenery was beautiful.

He thought that _you_ were beautiful.

You liked to hum along to whatever tune was on the radio as he drove. Neither of you recognized most of the songs because the music was Italian – foreign – but he loved the sound of your voice, so happy and carefree. While he knew you got night terrors, he really believed that any other time you were alright. You seemed happy, at least, and when you smiled at him, it warmed his heart in a way he hadn’t felt since 1945.

Steve always drove when he was with you. He’d made a habit of it over the last year or so since you’d joined up with the Avengers. There wasn’t any real reason for it, other than that you liked it when he drove. You’d told him as much once – said so offhandedly that you trusted him to take care of you.

You’d only meant via transport, of course, but he took it to heart. He wanted to take care of you, and he did – on the battlefield and off of it. There was something about you he just couldn’t shake.

It became second nature for you to ride shotgun on missions. Every now and then, he’d relax his hand on the gear shift and his fingertips would brush against your thigh. It always made his heart race, but not as much as your casual offer to go to Italy.

You’d suggested it so naturally, so easily, like it just made sense to go on a weekend getaway – just you and him. Granted, it kind of did make sense; the two of you had an upcoming mission in France, and the commute back and forth from the States would have been exhausting. Jet lag still affected him despite the serum, let alone you.

It just made sense. It was a break from work. That was all. That was what he told himself.

You and Steve stayed in a small villa on the coast. Because it was so last minute and October was on the waning edge of peak season, it seemed like there was just the one available within the entire sleepy town; the two of you had already tried about a dozen places. The villa had just one bed, but you’d swiped your credit card and accepted the keys before he even had the chance to argue.

It was a studio: not much of a living room, because the king-sized bed took up the majority of the room and in his opinion, it looked rather dreary, really – until you gave him a knowing smile and pushed open the French doors to reveal a private beach.

Almost like you’d been here before.

The rest of that first day, you sunbathed on the beach while Steve put on an act that he was enjoying the weather – when he was really more focused on how beautiful you looked in the warm sunlight. The sunscreen and sweat made your skin glow, and the black and white striped swimsuit on your body accentuated your curves in such a way that made him struggle to keep his eyes above your shoulders. Of course, the large, floppy hat on your head helped matters a little.

The way you leaned against him to take a photo together was sweet and affectionate, and he couldn’t help but sling his arm around your shoulders. Because you couldn’t quite reach, you asked him to take the photo. It took a couple of tries because _technology_ but he managed. Then you texted it to him and wrangled his phone from him to set it as your contact photo.

He didn’t mind at all.

That evening, you and Steve found yourselves laying on a blanket on the beach, looking up at the stars and nearly-full moon. His knuckles grazed the back of your hand, but you didn’t pull away. He didn’t have the courage to take the next step despite the fact that conversation flowed so freely between the two of you. You discussed all sorts of things, between favourite foods to worst fears, and neither of you were anything but honest.

“My greatest fear?” You sounded a little surprised at his question, and when he met your eyes, for the first time he caught a glimpse of how broken you were. Just a glimpse. Then you peered back up at the sky, focusing on nothing in particular. There was a lingering silence as you pondered his question, before you finally let out a slow, shaky breath and admitted, “I guess I just don’t want to be alone.” 

That was the very moment Steve fell in love with you.

Sometime later that night, his fingers intertwined with yours. It wasn’t sexual, but romantic. This job – this _career_ – had a way of destroying one’s humanity and it was a small intimate gesture that both of you desperately needed.

It didn’t go any further than that.

You shared the bed because, although it wasn’t really proper, tonight you’d learned things about each other that you hadn’t told anyone before. When you lay your head on his chest, you didn’t say a thing, and he didn’t either. Instead, you let your guard down, and you fell asleep to the even sound of his beating heart and the feeling of him gently stroking your hair.

##  **~~\---~~**

The next day, the two of you visited one of the vineyards, the one you’d pointed out on the way through. He mostly did it to appease you, but he loved the way your face lit up when you weaved your way back and forth in between the budding grape trees, almost like a dance.

The two of you were surrounded by nature: quiet, with just the chirping of the birds in the distance. You stumbled across a small clearing full of wildflowers, and by the time he found you there, you were already picking a bouquet. When he asked you why, you just smiled at him. It was a sad smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

You didn’t answer.

He plucked a single bloom from your bouquet and tucked it behind your ear. It was a simple gesture, really, but the prettiest flush came across your cheeks. Then you turned away, back to your bouquet, but you kept the flower behind your ear for the rest of the evening. 

##  **~~\---~~ **

He found you later out on the beach, barefoot and ankle-deep in the water. The hem of the long sundress you’d worn that morning to the vineyard was soaked through by the sea. You’d tossed your once-lovely bouquet into the water, the flowers and stems and petals surrounding you like some sort of water nymph – but then he caught a glimpse your tears.

Another glimpse. Another hint at who you were deep down.

“I’ll be in soon,” you promised, your voice cracking just a little.

He pretended not to notice, because you clearly didn’t want him to and not ten minutes later, you’d made your way back inside the little villa like nothing was out of the ordinary.

He didn’t pry.

You didn’t explain.

Instead, you bid him goodnight.

##  **~~\---~~ **

The two of you were woken well before sunrise for your next mission. Your pagers blared at the same time, rousing you from a sleepless night made tolerable only by Steve’s warmth. He woke just as quickly as you, or maybe he was already awake, too.

You had another nightmare that night, but he whispered sweet nothings to you that helped you back to sleep – sweet, gentle things that only a lover would say.

Once you crossed the border into France, neither of you again discussed the domestic bliss you’d shared in that little villa in Tuscany.

The honesty.

The intimacy.

At least not until the night that Bucky brought you back to them nearly two years later.

##  **~~\---~~ **

_June 2016_

When you woke, you were alone in an unfamiliar bedroom. It was similar to the suite that Tony had booked for the five of you, but not quite the same; maybe another hotel. Of course they would have relocated after they found out you were working for the cartel again. Their location was compromised because of you and, after you ignored their phone calls and messages, Tony may very well have disabled your phone, too. You’d never turned it back on to find out.

You were laying comfortably on a soft bed, but your hands were above your head, zip-tied to one of the metal rails of the headboard. Any other time you would have panicked, but you knew who brought you here and that knowledge had the opposite effect: it calmed you.

You could still feel the burn of Bucky’s fingers on your pulse. He quite literally had your life in his hands, and you trusted him with it. You _trusted_ him. Part of you wondered if you were suicidal, and in some ways, you were. You hated yourself for everything you’d done – and the despite the fact that he should hate you, too, you knew he’d never hurt you.

That was when you heard heated voices start to raise in the adjacent room.

“We’re packing it in,” Tony said with finality. “We’re packing it in and taking her home. I shouldn’t have even asked her to help. I’m the one who dragged her back into—”

“It was her choice to go.” Steve sounded angry. “She _killed_ people, Tony. We can’t just act like that didn’t happen. We can’t take her back, not without—”

“She was working an angle from the inside,” Bucky interrupted him, “or did you forget that?”

“She killed someone in cold blood tonight,” Steve argued. “You saw her, Buck. We all did. We can’t trust someone like that. We can’t.”

The way Steve’s voice cracked just slightly made you realize that he wasn’t just trying to convince _them_. You knew exactly why. He wasn’t just referring to what happened tonight, and that bothered you in a way that it shouldn’t have. You never used to care when you used him – and Bucky – so easily, but now, you were emotionally invested.

It got under your skin.

“ _I’m_ like that,” Natasha bit out, “and you trust me, don’t you?”

When no one responded, it all went quiet once again. You could only imagine that they’d all been sitting around the kitchen table, discussing you so casually like they would any other topic – but there was nothing casual about this conversation. It was heated and angry and even you could tell that Steve was using it to blow off steam.

You heard the sound of a chair screeching against tile, and then Steve’s voice followed, “I want to talk to her.” 

“That’s not a good idea,” Natasha warned. “You can talk to her after you’ve cooled off. Okay?”

There were another couple screeches from the other chairs, along with some clambering and Tony’s generous swearing – and then your door swung open with a particular amount of brute force that nearly knocked it off its hinges.

Steve was staring at you in a way that sent chills down your spine. Whether it was from fear or excitement, you weren’t sure, but even you could tell how angry he was.

“Steve, come on,” Natasha said, attempting to use her body as a barrier to the room. “It’s been a long day. It can wait.”

“No,” he responded, pushing his way past her. “It can’t.”

Then he slammed the door, locking it behind him. It was more a symbolic gesture than anything, because any of them could have picked the lock or just straight blown it off, but no one did. Not even Bucky, who you’d spotted for the briefest of seconds before the door shut. 

You swallowed thickly. Steve’s presence was suddenly stifling, and you were defenseless – hands tied and no weapons, but this was _Steve_. You wouldn’t need them. Would you?

“Rogers,” you greeted, not nearly as evenly as you would have liked to sound.

Steve let out a long, slow breath, focusing on a particular spot of the plain white wall as he attempted to center his thoughts. It didn’t work. He’d had enough of the lies, the deceit. He hardly knew what was real and what wasn’t anymore when it came to you, and as much as that bothered him, what’s worse was that he _wanted_ to know you – the real you – despite everything you’d done.

“Drop the act,” he ordered. “I’ve had enough of it. You lied to us.”

_You lied to me._

“I didn’t lie.”

Steve said your name like a swear word, angry and bitter, and you noticeably flinched at it. “You’re _still_ lying. You never stop, do you?”

That set you off. “If you recall, I was _supposed_ to just be consulting—”

“Was that before or after you decided to murder someone?”

You groaned. “For fuck’s sake, Steve, I had to. If I didn’t, they would have been suspicious.”

“We don’t trade lives,” he told you coldly. “Even if they’re criminals, we don’t—”

“Says the guy who sacrificed himself to bury a plane full of bombs in the arctic—”

“Would it kill you to shut your god damn mouth and just _listen to me_ for a minute? Christ!”

You’d seen Steve pissed off plenty of times before, but not quite like this. Even when he confronted you in that abandoned warehouse, he’d shown a little bit of restraint. He’d gripped that railing far too tightly, and you’d nearly fallen a couple stories down because of it – but now, he was absolutely on the brink of – well, something. You weren’t sure what. 

At his outburst, you couldn’t help but just stare at him, dumbfounded. It caught you off guard. 

When Steve saw that he finally had your full attention, he sank down on one side of the bed, burying his head in his hands. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, and you wanted to reach out and touch him, comfort him, but you couldn’t because of your restraints. That was probably for the better.

His question was stupid and naïve, and he knew better, but he asked it anyway. His voice was almost inaudible. “Can I trust you?”

You still heard him plain as day and, for a moment, you didn’t respond. The pause was just long enough that he looked over at you, his eyes guarded and concerned and full of apprehension – a muddled blue. His hair was dishevelled from his anxious tendency to run his hands through it during times of high stress, and you felt the urge to comfort him even more.

Instead, you offered him that same smile you gave him in Tuscany, the one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Another lie. “No, Stevie. You can’t.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked, then, and he was back on his feet in an instant. He didn’t spare you another glance even as he left the room, and you somehow managed to hold yourself together until he slammed the door behind him. The sharp sound of it suddenly triggered the hot tears streaming down your face, but you stayed silent. This was your burden to bear. You needed to handle it yourself.

By the time Tony checked on you some twenty minutes later, your perfect façade was back in place. You held your head high, just like always, and you joked with him about your zip ties. Tony finally released you from them because he had a soft spot for you, but it wasn’t just that. No, your façade wasn’t perfect at all. He could see right through it.

The smeared mascara under your eyes was a clue, but your behaviour was a dead giveaway.

When you joined Steve, Bucky, and Natasha in the living room, they could see through it, too. You debriefed them on recent dealings in what you thought was a calculated, emotionless way, but it wasn’t. You didn’t notice the way your breath hitched in your throat when you recounted a murder or a shipment. You didn’t notice the anxious way you fidgeted with the blanket in your lap. You didn’t notice the pity in their eyes.

Even Bucky’s.

Even Steve’s. 

And later that night, you found yourself sneaking into Steve’s bedroom like you used to do once upon a time. It was inappropriate. It was ridiculous.

You didn’t want to be alone. 

He was wide awake this time. He heard the slight creak of his door opening, followed by your familiar footfalls on carpet; and then, when his sheets lifted, he finally glanced up at you, ready to turn you down, reject you, send you away like he should have done a hundred times before—

But the expression on your face was the most honest he’d ever seen from you. You’d been crying some more, and it wasn’t subtle like earlier. Your mascara was smeared down your cheeks, now, and your eyes were red-rimmed and teary. Even your nose was flushed. 

“I’m sorry,” you sniffled. “I’m so sorry, Stevie. Can we just… Can we pretend that we’re in Tuscany? Just for tonight?”

You didn’t want sex. You wanted intimacy.

Steve was stunned speechless. Out of all the things you’d put him through, this may have been the worst. To use him for sex was one thing, but for _intimacy_ —

It was selfish. He hated that part of you, that selfishness, but what he hated more was that he couldn’t say no to you.

You took his silence as an immediate rejection. “God, I’m so sorry, this was stupid, I shouldn’t have—”

Steve quickly caught your hand when you turned to leave. His voice was low and rough, not from sleep but from the late hour when he spoke, “Come here.”

You were hesitant and careful when you slid into bed next to him, not wanting to broach any boundaries. In response, he exasperatedly pulled your head against his chest and started to stroke your hair just like he used to do once – and for the first time, you let your walls down around him. As you cried into the soft fabric of his shirt, he held you close. 

Neither of you said another word that night. There were three in particular sitting on the tip of his tongue, and he barely had enough sense not to say them. You put the toxic in intoxicating and despite all the pain you’d put him – _them_ – through over the last few months, he just couldn’t resist you.

He loved you. 

What’s worse was that he knew Bucky loved you, too.


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky immediately noticed the lack of tension between you and Steve.

At first, he thought that the two of you must have talked it out sometime after he went to bed. It certainly wouldn’t have surprised him; he’d had done a lot of thinking over the last month during your absence, and at one point they finally talked about you. That conversation was very much overdue, and it had cleared the air in a way.

Steve admitted that he missed you and, despite everything, he still cared about you as much as he wished he didn’t. He hated how angry he’d gotten with you.

Bucky would have been lying if he didn’t feel the same way, but he didn’t really verbalize it. He didn’t need to, because Steve already knew.

What they came up with in the end wasn’t exactly a truce, but it wasn’t _not_ one, either. Assuming you even came back, of course, which you did – albeit not willingly.

[[MORE]]

He quickly realized that whatever was going on between you and Steve was more than just a heart-to-heart. During breakfast, you brushed shoulders at the table; a coy smile tugged at your lips while Steve looked back over at you in amusement. You snuck glances at his best friend every now and then, too, and there was a certain longing in your eyes that Bucky recognized in an instant.

You’d looked at him just like that when he brought you back two nights ago, too.

You hadn’t just missed him. You’d missed Steve, too, and now something had clearly happened between the two of you.

Bucky damn well hoped it wasn’t what he thought it was.

Not again.

##  ~~**—** ~~

The five of you finalized your plans later that morning.

You were planning to attend a fundraising gala tonight. All of the higher-ranking cartel members would be there, and your original plan was to sneak some photos of them throughout the evening. You already knew them and knew what they looked like, but the others didn’t, so the photos were necessary evil.

Your target would also be in attendance: one of your father’s lieutenants, the one who trafficked things in and out of the United States, the reclusive missing link. Tonight, attendance was mandatory. As much as you were dreading it, this was your one chance of getting a photo, otherwise it would be months before you got another chance.

How your teammates knew about any of it, you weren’t entirely sure. You assumed they must have tracked you somehow. Probably tapped your new phone, at the very least. You didn’t really care.

That stupid gala was why you were here with them now. Judging by your erratic behaviour as of late, Tony didn’t think you’d come back willingly. He thought that maybe sending Barnes would disarm you a little, but holy hell, had it ever.

Because he was the closest thing you had to real family, Tony wanted to open a dialogue with you. He knew how much it would hurt you to be there. You’d purposely spent five long years away from it all, trying to do something good for a change, and now you were going right back into the shark pit. His original plan was to give you some reassurance, at least until he finally saw you in person – then he realized that you’d gone completely off the rails, so much that he wanted to take you away from here, take you home.

You refused.

You didn’t have a home.

As much as it frustrated Tony to the nth degree, he compromised. He had to for the sake of the mission. The five of you agreed to keep your same plan, except with the added caveat that you weren’t going in alone.

Natasha was a master of disguise, even on the run. So was Bucky. It made sense for them to go to the gala with you for, if nothing else, backup – but it would also allow for more evidence. Steve was entirely too recognizable, let alone a terrible liar, and Tony – well, Tony was just too recognizable. The two of them would provide support from outside if needed.

You didn’t think it would be necessary.

The three of you easily got in, as to be expected. Not one of them, not even Tony, had believed that your reputation would precede you, but it did. You had Bucky on one arm and Natasha on the other: your plus ones for the evening. It wasn’t uncommon for you to have more than one date for an event like this. Back then, you loved to flaunt your sexuality, much to your father’s disapproval – but he allowed it because, in a way, it was also a display of power.

And it really was.

Heads turned when you first came in. Natasha made jokes about it under her breath, to which you actually smiled. It was genuine. 

In clear contrast, Bucky completely ignored the two of you. He’d played along just fine at the door, but now that you were inside, the three of you had planned to split up and he didn’t hesitate at all. It was like your very presence unnerved him, and of course it did, considering what he’d learnt about you let alone what he’d seen you do. You were honestly surprised he was willing to even play along at all.

What you didn’t know was that Bucky was still so in love with you, he couldn’t stand it. After he learned what you’d done for so many years, he saw red. You’d done the exact same thing that Hydra did to oppress him – _possess_ him – for seventy years. He took it personally, and even now, it hurt.

You’d only hurt him like that once before, on that cold, wintery night in Iceland.

But then, he finally saw the real you. You were covered in another person’s blood, holding a gun to Bucky’s forehead with so little emotion, almost robotic – but when you realized it was him, there was a small spark of recognition in your eyes.

He knew you wouldn’t go willingly, but you didn’t want to fight him, either. You looked weary, with dark circles under your eyes despite your flawless makeup. You were tired of the fighting and the bloodshed and the misery that came along with whatever role you played, Avenger or not.

You surrendered yourself to him, similar to how you’d done with him behind closed doors so many times before. It was almost poetic in a way – almost meant to be an apology for what people like you had done to people like him. You didn’t put up a fight when his fingers wrapped around your throat, his fingertips hot on your pulse. Instead, you met his eyes and in them, he saw the longing.

You missed him. Even he could see it.

As your consciousness faded, your body slumped against him and he effortlessly lifted you into his arms. You were so soft and warm against him, and the scent of your perfume was intoxicating. You always smelled so fucking good, and he’d missed it because his pillows no longer smelled like you.

He missed you, too, but he wasn’t ready to confront those feelings.

Not yet. 

##  ~~**—** ~~

As the night wore on, the sea of familiar faces all started to become a bit too much. You were right back in the midst of everything you hated about yourself – hated what these people had forced you to do. It was making you remember everything you’d done for the cartel, for your family, and you were starting to panic.

The last month had been a bit of a blur. You dissociated like you’d done many times before. You put on a character, almost, to separate the real you from the you that did horrible things. Now, you were a mixture of both and it made you feel like you were suffocating in your own skin.

You needed to get out of here _now_ but you were upstairs. You couldn’t get out quickly or easily without drawing attention to yourself, which meant you needed another escape route or some other kind of distraction.

Natasha was somewhere on one of the floors below, mingling with the crowd of millionaires in her own charming way. She was too far away to be of any help. Steve and Tony were outside, probably canvassing the perimeter, and Bucky, well, he was in here somewhere but you weren’t sure where. You’d lost sight of him after he stormed off.

That was when you thought of it: a bathroom. If you could find a bathroom, then you could get away from all this for just a few minutes. It would give you a chance to breathe and calm down before you blew your cover. When you felt your breathing quicken, you quickly muted your comms before anyone noticed something was wrong.

A small smile here, a quick brush against a stranger there, you weaved your way through the crowd at what you hoped was a normal, everyday pace – not how you so desperately wanted to break into a run. The further away from the main festivities you went, though, the crowd thinned out quite a bit, and further back on the upper floors you found some privacy in the form of an empty office.

Well, almost.

That was where you found Bucky, and you instantly felt a little better despite the fact that you were staring straight down the barrel of his handgun. He must have heard you coming. You assumed he’d been searching through some files for more intel when he heard your approach, and he’d immediately gone on the defensive.

“Bucky,” came your desperate whimper, and then he barely even had the chance to lower his firearm before you threw your arms around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder. The familiar feeling of him did wonders to calm you down, but you were still too keyed up, too anxious.

Bucky froze up at the sudden affection from you. Something was very, very wrong for you to act like this. It’d been months since the last time he held you like this, and your relationship was still in shambles – not to mention the fact that he wasn’t ready to confront you yet. He was still processing.

Despite everything, he couldn’t help but make sure you were alright. You had some kind of pull over him that drove him insane. He quickly muted his comms for your privacy and shoved his handgun back into its holster before his hands came to rest on either side of your face. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t be here,” you admitted as hot tears prickled at the corners of your eyes. “I can’t do this, Bucky. I have to get out of here.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he reassured you, hesitantly wrapping his arms around you. Your body noticeably melted against him as he slowly started to stroke your back in his familiar way, an empowering feeling he loved and hated all at once. Your shaky breaths against his neck were driving him up an absolute wall, but you were upset and he did his best to push it from his mind. “Calm down. We’ve still got plenty of time to finish the mission.”

Right. The mission. That was the entire reason you were here, but now you were losing it – and if you didn’t get a grip on yourself, you’d fuck this up. This was your one chance, and you couldn’t blow it. 

You took one long breath in through your nose, and then you let it out just as slowly, trying to calm yourself down. Then you did it again, and a third time for good measure. It worked a little, but not enough, and you whispered, “I need to forget.”

Bucky’s comforting hand on your back instantly stilled. He knew what you meant. The way he said your name sent chills down your spine – a warning – and he followed it with a firm, “No.”

You slowly pulled back to look at him, only to find that despite his refusal, he looked every bit as conflicted as you felt. His pale blue eyes were soft, but guarded. The slight flush on his cheeks was proof enough that he remembered the many times he’d made you forget before. 

This would be no different, surely – except in every way, it would be. Things were much simpler back then, not the convoluted mess they were now. 

You swallowed thickly and averted your eyes, before you asked almost inaudibly, “Please?”

The way you asked the question was timid and meek, and you weren’t proud of it. No, in fact you were downright ashamed to ask him to do the exact thing that you’d hurt him so badly with before. Stupid as it sounded, you were selfish but even you wouldn’t have asked had it not been important. 

Without a clear head, you couldn’t get a visual on your target, and without that visual, you had nothing. The mission would be a failure. The full month of hard work that everyone had put in would be wasted. In your fucked-up mind, this was as good a solution as any.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, then, and his eyes hardened on yours. He knew it too. If this was what you needed to complete the mission, then so be it. He was a soldier. He’d been trained to do what was required for a favourable outcome. He just hated that it was _this._

Bucky grit out a single, “Fine,” before he gently pushed you back against the wooden desk, nudging your legs apart with his knee. The blunt edge of the desk bit into your ass as you willingly spread your legs for him, looking up at his face through your lashes. Your breaths were shaky and nervous; not from anxiety, now, but from anticipation.

He paused to take you in – your eyes dark with desire, cheeks flushed, worrying your lower lip between your teeth – and the sight turned him on beyond belief. Then he remembered that it wasn’t a specific want for _him_ that brought you here. It could have been anyone. Steve. Natasha. It didn’t matter to you. 

All that mattered was your need to forget.

With your arms around his neck, you slowly pulled him down for a kiss like you’d done so many times before – but his lips barely brushed against yours before he pulled away just enough to rest his forehead on your shoulder. His voice was hushed when he told you, “I can’t.”

That came like a slap in the face to you, but you should have expected it. Of course he wouldn’t want to kiss you. You’d hurt him in so many ways. He was only doing this for the mission. It was impersonal, and kissing was anything _but_ impersonal. You understood, but it still stung.

You let out another shaky breath. “Y-Yeah. Okay. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

None of it did, but he knew how much you needed this. He just wished he didn’t.

Bucky hiked up your gown around your waist with his metal arm, and with the other, his hand was warm and familiar as he slowly slid it up your bare thigh, his fingertips ghosting against your skin. Even if your relationship was beyond repair, his touch still sparked something in you that made you want him. Then again, you always wanted him.

When Bucky’s fingers brushed against the soft fabric your panties, one of your hands came to rest on his arm. It was a habit of yours, automatic, not so much to guide him anymore but to just _feel_ him while his fingers worked downright magic on you. Even now, he let you do it because it was a sweet, intimate gesture that he’d always loved.

His thumb found your clit, where he rubbed slow, teasing circles through delicate lace and a quiet whine escaped you from his gentle touch. You felt the muscles in his arm tense up, and for a moment, he stopped. 

Something inside of him snapped at the sound.

In that moment, you realized that he was clearly forcing himself to do something he didn’t want to. Of course he didn’t want to after everything you’d done to him. You opened your mouth, about to tell him that he didn’t _have_ to do this, you’d manage somehow – when his soft lips were suddenly hot on your throat and his hand was inside your panties, his fingers sliding through your slippery folds with ease.

“You’re so _wet_ ,” he growled against your neck.

The low timbre of his voice combined with his sudden actions wrenched an undignified moan from you. “Bucky—”

He shoved a finger inside of you, roughly, but you could handle it; you could always handle it. You’d always loved it rough, and some small part of him still loved to treat you that way, even if the rest of him didn’t. He loved that you weren’t as breakable as you seemed.

You were just wet enough for him start a certain rhythm that he knew you liked. He knew your body like the back of his hand, and you couldn’t hold back a gasp, your hips bucking up into his palm as you used your arm around his neck to pull him even closer.

In response to your impatience, he sucked a bruise on your neck that made you whimper. You were absolutely drenched for him and he slid another finger inside you with ease, the heel of his hand slick against your clit. 

“Fuck,” you whined, holding onto him for what felt like dear life. His lips and teeth and tongue were hot on your neck, and when he pulled back just a little, his breath against the saliva-slickened skin of your throat sent a shiver down your spine.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” he cooed, hooking his fingers against your g-spot which made your back arch. He just pulled you closer, so that your body was flush and writhing against him.

The only response he got from you was an unintelligible moan, almost loud enough to drown out the wet, messy sounds coming from your slick heat.

It turned you on even more to feel how hard he was for you against your thigh, his cock straining against the fabric of his trousers. When you palmed him, however, he shoved your hand away and then added a third finger, as if to punish you for even attempting it. The stretch of three of his fingers was a delicious burn, one that sent you reeling.

“Don’t,” he told you in warning, nipping your earlobe. “This is all I’m giving you.”

His fingers. Not his cock.

It was a gentle reminder that the only reason he was doing this was for the mission. It wasn’t for you, specifically, but a means to an end. He wasn’t going to fuck you like you so desperately wanted him to, like he’d done so many times before to distract you, to make you forget. This was impersonal, and while it was another clear refusal, he already had you on the brink and you didn’t have it in you to argue.

It was teasing, almost, the way he lifted your thigh with his other arm to reach deeper inside of you. It made you want his cock even more, because his fingers could only reach so far and the only thing preventing you from taking every thick inch of him was _him_. You could almost grind against him as it was, but he was purposely preventing that.

He wouldn’t kiss you. He wouldn’t fuck you. You knew he was only doing this for you out of some warped sense of duty, but it was working for you anyway. He knew your body ridiculously well. 

Bucky curled his fingers inside of you at the same time he fucked you with them, rough and brutal, and you couldn’t help but release a loud string of gasps and curses. You felt like you were about to burst.

“Shh,” he whispered against your neck. “Gotta be quiet, doll. Someone will hear.”

You knew just as well as he did that if you didn’t stay quiet, the two of you would get caught, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Then again, you weren’t in your right mind.

At least one of you was.

Even so, he didn’t relent and as much as you tried to hold back your moans, you couldn’t. Instead, you bit down on his shoulder to try and muffle the noise. The thin material of his button-down shirt did nothing to prevent your teeth from sinking in. It didn’t break the skin, but it definitely would have been hard enough to hurt. Not that you cared in the heat of the moment.

It didn’t faze him, either. Instead, it spurred him on.

“That’s it,” he encouraged you gently. “Bite as hard as you need to.”

God, he was so, so skilled at hitting all the right spots inside of you, the very ones that got you higher and higher and drove you absolutely crazy. Your mind was blissfully blank as he brought you to the edge, and you gasped out, “I’m– I’m close—”

“Such a good girl,” he breathed into your ear, holding your writhing body firmly in place as he finger-fucked you into oblivion. His palm, slick from your juices, pressed harder down on your clit, and then his tongue laved against the hypersensitive skin of your neck, his lips hot and wet against your pulse. “Gonna come for me?”

His dirty talk was what pushed you over the edge, and you shattered in his arms with a sharp, strangled cry. Your walls squeezed his fingers tightly over and over as you rode out wave after wave of your orgasm.

When your body finally went limp, he slowly pulled his fingers from your perfect, glistening cunt, which made you shiver.

A few moments passed as Bucky located a box of tissues – took a couple for himself to clean his fingers, and then he handed the box to you. That stung just a little, because once upon a time he would have licked them clean, or even made you do it. Now, there were very clear boundaries. He certainly didn’t want to cross them, but you did.

What’s worse was how painfully casual it was when he asked you, “Is that better?”

He almost seemed unaffected by everything that had just transpired. Almost – but you could discern the slight roughness in his voice that betrayed how worked up he was, not to mention the fact that he was rock fucking hard for you and he wouldn’t let you help him with it. There was a noticeable bulge in his pants and you desperately wanted to return the favour, but he’d told you no.

He rejected you.

“Yeah,” you responded breathily. “Thank you.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room as you cleaned yourself up and readjusted your gown. The desk was surprisingly fine and not drenched, just a couple of papers askew which Bucky returned to their rightful places, and then he went right back to going through the files he’d been in the middle of reading before you so rudely interrupted.

There wasn’t a mirror in this little office, so you had no idea if you looked presentable or not. You certainly didn’t _feel_ presentable. You felt freshly fucked. Even though you’d used tissues to clean up, your panties were sticking uncomfortably to you beneath your dress.

“How do I look?”

When Bucky’s eyes lifted from the file in his hands to you, you almost forgot how to breathe. He was acting so nonchalant about it all, but the way he was looking at you, eyes dark and tracing every single feature upon your face and down your body, betrayed exactly how much you’d affected him. 

He reached out to truck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the cold metal of his fingers a blissful chill against your flushed cheeks. When you leaned into his touch, he pulled his hand away.

“Perfect,” he responded honestly.

The smile you offered him was coy, which was just hilarious considering what the two of you had just done. “Thanks.”

Bucky just nodded to the door and said, “Go get ‘em.”

“Roger that.”

When you got to the door, you turned around again, wanting to say something, anything to prolong whatever this was – this _warmth_ – only to find that he’d already turned his attention back to the file in his hands.

Of course he did. You had a mission to focus on. He did too.

You closed the door behind you with a quiet _click_.

The moment he found himself alone, Bucky let out a long, shaky breath and collapsed into the leather desk chair, dropping the file in his hands back onto the desk. God, you were going to be the death of him. He dragged his hands down his face, absolutely exhausted from resisting you, and immediately realized what a mistake that was.

Christ, he could smell you. Even though he’d wiped his hands with a couple of tissues, the scent of you remained and he knew if he put his fingers in his mouth, he’d be able to taste you, too.

You were going to be the death of him.


	13. Chapter 13

The party continued on without a hitch. You didn’t miss a thing during your brief absence, just too-expensive champagne and tedious conversation. Another glass of bubbly went down like water, but it did nothing to ease your nerves, even with Tony and Steve bickering about something stupid over comms. You weren’t really paying attention, instead focusing on the large room in front of you. You’d just made your way back downstairs, finally ready to play ball with a couple hundred cartel attendees.

Then a sultry female voice caught your attention, and you froze in place.

“ _My, my_ ,” she purred, her Spanish sounding sweet as honey to your ears. “ _What a surprise_.”

You swallowed thickly and slowly turned around to face her.

Your target.

She was dressed to the nines, wearing a flowing black gown that accentuated her curves. Draped over her shoulders was a matching shawl, sparkling with diamonds, just like the four-inch designer heels on her feet. She was still absolutely gorgeous despite the darkness you knew she kept locked deep within.

Her pretty red lips curled up into a smile that made your heart race and your stomach turn all at once. Everything you’d ever done for the cartel wasn’t for your father. It was for _her_.

“Marisol,” you greeted evenly, and the bickering in your ear quieted immediately. Your teammates must have heard you say her name.

“And here I thought you were too good for us,” she told you, this time in perfect, albeit slightly accented English. “With all of your, ah… Avenging. Please give Miss Romanoff my regards.”

She then proceeded to raise her champagne glass just slightly, almost in a toast over toward the blackjack table on the other side of the room. 

That was where you’d last seen Natasha chatting up some millionaires just a couple of minutes prior. When Natasha swore something colourful under her breath, you grit your teeth. She was compromised.

“What do you want?” you hissed, dropping all pretense.

“Why, you, of course,” Marisol responded airily, trailing her perfectly manicured finger down the side of your face. When her thumb traced your lower lip like she’d done it a hundred times before, you shivered because she _had_. Her touch was entirely too familiar, and you hated that it sparked something within you even now, five years later. “I’ve missed you, kitten.”

Even with her taunting, you kept your head held high. “I haven’t missed you.”

Your remark made her frown at you, before she pulled her hand away, only to rest it on her hip. “Oh? You wound me, _Princesa_. Does your father know what you’re really up to?”

There it was. Blackmail. Her nasty inner self was starting to show.

You didn’t falter. Instead, you smiled sweetly at her despite how shaken you felt. “And what would that be? This is a fundraiser. I’m raising funds. Aren’t you?”

In Marisol’s warm brown eyes twinkled amusement, but you didn’t miss the danger that flashed within them – nor did you miss it in her tone when she spoke again, “You’re going to come with me, _mi amor_ , or I’ll expose you right here. You must know how suspicious your sudden change of heart has been. Shall we prove it?”

Shit.

It was true that the rest of your father’s lieutenants had been suspicious since your return, and now, there wasn’t anything you could do to prove otherwise. If Marisol knew about Natasha, then she must have had evidence against you, too. You knew her well enough. She was too thorough to make a move without insurance.

You were armed, but there were way too many cartel members in here to risk fighting your way out of this. You were outnumbered, and not only that, but you had Natasha to consider, too. If she was compromised, then she very likely had a target on her back.

As if on cue, a little red glowing dot appeared in the middle of your chest, too, and you didn’t bother trying to locate its source. Instead, you ground out, “Fine. I’ll go with you.” 

Protests from your teammates immediately filled your ear, so loud that you very nearly ripped the device from your ear. Steve and Bucky and Tony were shouting things to you all at once, their voices overlapping each other, but the gist was the same: don’t you dare go, don’t be an idiot, we can handle this, damn it, we just got you back—

You ignored them. The five of you had planned for a potential exposure, but not like this and not by her. Marisol wouldn’t hesitate to use Natasha for target practice. She might hesitate with you, but only long enough to torment you for a moment or two first. Then she’d have someone else pull the trigger. The glowing dot at the top of your cleavage was proof of that.

“I knew you’d see things my way.”

There wasn’t a single thing you could do except go with her. The knowing smirk that came across Marisol’s face made you want to slap her. 

As you followed her and her bodyguards outside, you found Bucky standing at the top of the stairs, watching you – and when you met his eyes, steel blue and full of resolve, you made a point to discreetly remove your comms device from your ear. You knew he noticed it when his lips moved just slightly, likely reporting to the rest of your team what you’d just done. You could only imagine the filthy swears he must have received in response.

The evening breeze was cool and refreshing on your face, but you didn’t care. All you could feel was a deep, dark sense of dread, especially when one of Marisol’s bodyguards opened the door to her shiny black limousine for you like the perfect gentleman. 

Your fingers embedded in the fabric of your gown to hike it up just enough to get inside the limo, but they quickly balled into white-knuckled fists, wrinkling the delicate fabric when you caught a glimpse of Steve in the woods surrounding the mansion. The look on his face – pure, unadulterated betrayal – made the breath hitch in your throat. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen that look from him, but it hurt just as much. 

In response, you did what you always did. You brushed him off.

With practiced flair, you dipped your head and slid inside. You didn’t notice you’d broken into a nervous sweat until your skin made contact with the plush leather seats; your hands were clammy, and where your gown was hiked up, your exposed legs stuck unpleasantly to the leather.

Tony would very likely tail the limo, but the five of you were still outnumbered. Natasha was probably trapped at the blackjack table with a little red dot in the middle of her chest, and she’d be like that for quite awhile, knowing Marisol. Your father’s favourite, albeit reclusive lieutenant had back-up plans for her back-up plans. She was too smart, too thorough.

This entire night had been a farce. You’d just been too stupid to see it until now.

She’d won.

* * *

The ride was quiet. Marisol didn’t talk much, but she didn’t need to. She knew she’d won. You were her spoils.

Regardless, she offered you more champagne which you readily accepted. If nothing else, she’d always been a good hostess, just like you. 

You didn’t want to be sober. You didn’t want to remember the things she’d made you do, let alone what you’d done for her of your own free will. You’d given her every part of yourself, and she’d broken you, shattered you into so many pieces that you’d never be the same.

When she brushed away a few stray strands of hair from your face, you flinched just a little. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything. Instead, her hand slid under your gown and slowly made its way up from your knee to your thigh. She didn’t bring it any higher, but your body reacted the same way it always did with her: with goosebumps and hypersensitivity that you’d once found pleasant.

Even now, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. That was what you hated the most.

“Five years is a very long time,” she whispered, before she reverted to her native Spanish, “ _but your body still remembers me_.”

Her breath was hot against the shell of your ear. She was hard to resist, and even harder to ignore. 

Somehow, you managed to turn your face away. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want her.

Her lips were soft and gentle on your neck, a stark contrast to her otherwise bristly demeanour.

You wanted Bucky. You wanted Steve. You wanted Natasha.

When her hand finally slid higher, you started to dissociate.

You wanted to forget all over again, but you couldn’t. Not this time.

She wouldn’t let you forget. 

She _never_ let you forget.


	14. Chapter 14

Marisol never did anything without a reason. When you finally arrived at her estate after about forty-five minutes of driving, you learned exactly what that reason was. Unfortunately, it took quite some time to pry it from her; she was ecstatic to finally have you home. 

This wasn’t your home, not anymore – but it looked the same. The gaudy, gilded furnishings were a stark contrast to the beautiful artwork hanging from the walls: original paintings she’d spent millions of dollars on in a show of her immense wealth. You knew, because you’d been at her side during all those black-market auctions. 

You held the paddle.

Even after half a decade, she’d kept your old belongings for your return, like she thought you were going to come back someday. It wasn’t by choice. The fact that she blackmailed you into coming along should have been evidence enough of that, but then again, she’d always been delusional – and not just figuratively.

Your bedroom was exactly like you remembered, except pristine and sparkling like she’d just had it cleaned. Above your canopy bed hung the [same authentic Picasso](https://www.pablopicasso.org/blue-nude.jsp) she bought you for your birthday one year. You’d mentioned to her once in passing that it was a real shame you never saw any of Picasso’s art on the black market, so she’d gone out of her way to acquire one just for you.

It was probably one of the more expensive works she owned – not that it mattered. What mattered to her back then was your happiness, and at the time, you’d been over the moon. The love the two of you made that night was incomparable.

Now you felt just like the girl in the painting, trapped in your own misery.

Inside your walk-in closet hung the same designer clothing that you used to wear just for her. While you always liked to look good, even now, for her you dolled yourself up just a little bit more. The fashion was certainly out of touch compared to today’s trends, but you were very clearly her prisoner, so at least you’d have something to wear.

For some reason it came as a small comfort to run your fingers along all of the familiar fabrics. Nostalgic. A reminder of the good times. You couldn’t deny that there were a few, a very select few, scattered amongst the horrors.

Marisol slowly slid her arms around your waist from behind, before her chin came to rest against your shoulder. What bothered you was that it didn’t startle you as much as it should have. You were already used to her touch – or maybe you’d never really forgotten it.

“I kept it all just like the day you left,” she murmured, giving you a gentle squeeze around your waist. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” you told her sweetly, placing your hands atop hers like you’d done so many times before. If nothing else, you’d always been a good actress, and this was your time to shine. You could keep your tears at bay until you were alone.

“I love _you_ ,” she said softly, and then her lips brushed against your cheek – affectionate, not passionate like she’d been in the car and, for a moment, it brought you back to how things used to be. How she used to be. How your life used to be.

There was a certain simplicity about it all that you missed.

That was when you realized that some part of you _did_ miss this, despite everything she’d made you do. Except that was a lie, and you knew it. She hadn’t made you do a single thing. You’d done everything for her, gave her every part of yourself because you loved her, and she loved you just as much. She just showed it differently, through expensive gifts and words of adoration and pure, unbridled toxicity that sickened you to the core.

Swallowing the taste of bile on the back of your tongue, you hesitantly turned around in her embrace and offered her a coy smile – your best performance yet, but that was probably because some small part of it was genuine.

Then you shyly leaned forward and kissed her. You weren’t at all shy, but tonight, you would be. For her.

She tensed up for a second, and you were a little pleased with yourself for catching her off-guard. You repeated over and over in your head that this was all for show, because you needed to get her to drop her defenses. If she believed that your affections were real, then maybe she’d be a little more lax with the security and you’d get an opportunity to escape. Not likely, of course, as she was so thorough but it was worth a shot.

When her lips started to move against yours with such ardent familiarity, however, it took your breath away. For all that she was, Marisol still knew your body entirely too well. What happened in the limousine was nothing compared to this. She hadn’t done much, really; just kissed your neck, teased you, made you want her – and now, you did.

The rational part of your brain was screaming at you to stop, but your instincts took over just like always. This was what you did to cope, to forget the horrible things you’d done and would continue to do whilst in her presence. After all, the first time you used sex as a crutch was with her.

It was poetic. It was pathetic.

The two of you quickly made a tangled mess of the once-perfect sheets and, at the same time, made a tangled mess of your mind. Marisol put the toxic in intoxicating, even now, and you just couldn’t get enough of her soft lips and her dirty talk and just – _her_.

Despite the love she clearly still harboured for you, there was none of it in the way she ripped orgasm after orgasm from you until your chest was heaving and your mind was blissfully blank.

No, she did it to prove a point.

You would always be hers.

* * *

Tony tailed the limousine back to the estate. He was the only one who could, because he was airborne and the others weren’t. Steve argued with him for a hot minute over comms about it, too – said that he was going to follow behind on his motorcycle, end of discussion.

It would have been too risky with your life and Natasha’s hanging in the balance.

The surprising part was that Bucky was the rational one for once, not Steve. Bucky was the one who put an end to the heated argument, simply by pointing out the facts that all four of them already knew: you were trapped, Natasha was compromised, and it wasn’t worth the risk if Steve was spotted. Tony, at least, could cloak his presence, for one, and for two, he was in the sky. He could get by undetected, whereas a motorcycle wasn’t exactly discreet.

To Tony, though, it almost sounded like Bucky was saying that _you_ weren’t worth the risk, but you were a valued teammate and despite his history with the ex-assassin, even Tony knew he wouldn’t be so callous. Bucky valued people’s lives – plural – possibly even more than Tony did, which was why he was finally able to forgive him in the first place for what he’d done to his parents.

That said, they’d both been awfully broody as of late – Steve _and_ Bucky – and Tony had yet to figure out why. He was normally pretty good with those sorts of things, but with this, he wasn’t.

It was bizarre.

Tony suspected that it probably had something to do with you, but surely it couldn’t be that easy. You wouldn’t get involved with a colleague, especially considering what happened the last time you did – right here in this very town, as a matter of fact. He didn’t know every single detail, but he was able to piece together a pretty good idea of it in the coming on four years he’d known you.

It certainly wasn’t ideal that you’d been taken, but at least it gave them a location to work with. He knew next to nothing about their target, just that she was extremely reclusive and only made public appearances a few times a year, mostly for special events like the party tonight. Very few people knew her personally, let alone knew her trade routes, which had been the primary goal since the start of this mission.

The only the intel they had on Marisol Espinosa Villanueva was from you. Whilst you’d readily provided this particular address ‘anonymously’ before the five of you had even left the States, Tony’s satellites indicated that the estate was very rarely used and a quick sweep past with a drone showed that the exterior of the mansion was in disrepair.

Now it wasn’t.

You’d all written it off quite early in the mission due to the lack of activity and upkeep, and later that same night, you and Tony had a hush-hush conversation out on his balcony during which you shared in confidence that you thought she must have moved on.

“Five years is a very long time,” you’d told him as the two of you looked up at the stars. Your voice was so wistful, almost longing, unlike anything he’d ever heard from you before.

Clearly, Marisol hadn’t moved on in those five years, or if she did then she’d only recently moved back in.

That was bizarre, too.

What bothered Tony was the fact that you’d removed your comms tonight. It pissed him off, too. All of them. Even though your cover was blown, the device was small and almost unnoticeable and you definitely could have kept it in, if for no other reason than to let them to listen to your conversation.

Part of him wondered if you didn’t want to be overheard, but he shoved that awful thought right back out of his mind just as quickly as it appeared. You’d made some terrible choices over the past month, choices he wasn’t entirely able to come to terms with yet, but you wouldn’t betray them. You were family.

Despite that, he wasn’t sure what was worse: the cold-blooded murder, the human trafficking, or the drugs. He’d normally gravitate toward one of the former, but the drugs being imported were a new, more lethal variant of cocaine. Just a small amount was needed to feel the effects, making it that much easier to overdose. A string of deaths throughout the States had occurred shortly after its sudden arrival, particularly in New York.

Tony didn’t like that it was happening in his backyard. That was why he was here. You’d adamantly refused to help at first, even after he explained it to you, but eventually you acquiesced and he still hadn’t found out what caused your sudden change of heart. He’d been wondering for awhile.

There it was again: doubt. Truth be told, he found himself second-guessing you a lot lately, and he hated it. You were family. He didn’t want to doubt you or your intentions, because he’d known you for so long, but ever since you’d arrived back here in Cancun, you’d been so… off. 

And then, when you left the first time, you’d gone completely off the rails. It was _bad._ You killed people in cold blood just like you used to do once – said it was to keep your cover intact, but he still blamed himself for it. Now you’d left again, maybe even by your own volition _with your target,_ and you’d switched off your comms to boot so that you wouldn’t be overheard. Possibly.

It was painting a picture that he didn’t want to see.

Your behaviour was suspicious. Unfortunately, everyone else saw it, too. 

By the time he finally made it back to the hotel after securing your location, his three teammates already had their bags packed. It didn’t even need to be said that they’d have to relocate again. They’d done it the first time because they thought you were compromised, and in some ways, you had been. As time passed, though, it became evident that you hadn’t told anyone within the cartel about the investigation. Instead, you started working an angle from the inside. Their surveillance of you had confirmed that, not to mention the fact that Tony had kept an eye on the CCTV footage in the hallway outside the first suite you’d all shared, just to be sure – and there wasn’t even a lick of strange behaviour.

So, this time, he decided to trust you. The whole situation wasn’t exactly ideal, but it was progress. They had a location. Now they needed a plan.

“Man, I’m beat,” he announced loudly, flopping down on the sofa in the living room. “Don’t know why you’re all packed. We’re not going anywhere.”

Steve’s grip faltered on his duffel bag, and then he and Bucky exchanged glances like they’d done so frequently as of late. It was ridiculous.

Tony audibly rolled his eyes. “Would you guys quit with that? She didn’t rat us out last time.”

“That doesn’t mean she won’t now,” Nat argued. “I want to trust her, and I know you do too, but—”

“But nothing, Nat. She’s family. We’re staying. End of story.”

“She turned off her comms. Why else would she do that?” Steve asked, but it was a rhetorical question. They all knew the answer. “Christ, Tony, she killed so many people—”

Tony cut him off with a loud, irritated sigh. “Come on, Cap. She came back.”

“I _brought_ her back,” Bucky corrected him.

“She came willingly,” Tony countered. “Kind of. Why does it matter? She’s not going to turn on us. You know her.”

The way Steve looked at him was wary and mistrustful, but after a tense few moments he finally let go of his large duffel, dropping it to the floor with a _thud._ He’d always been so defenseless when it came to you, and even though he’d witnessed some of the terrible things you’d done – the horrors of your past coming back to haunt you in the present – he desperately wanted to trust you just as much as he still loved you.

So he did.

He trusted you, even though every fibre of his being was telling him not to. What’s worse was that he regretted how he left things on such a bittersweet note, and he wanted to make it right. Needed to. In some warped way, this was the first step in rectifying your broken relationship and trusting you again. He found himself wanting to help you just like he’d done the other night when you came to him in the middle of the night, upset and crying. He wanted to hold you and run his fingers through your hair and tell you that everything was going to be alright, just like he did then and in Tuscany. 

He missed your warmth. He missed your smile. He missed _you_ , and deep down, he knew you missed him too. You wouldn’t have come to him that night otherwise.

Bucky followed suit by setting his two bags down on the coffee table. It wasn’t as hard for him to make the decision; there was something about your behaviour tonight that he just couldn’t shake, and he couldn’t exactly share it with the rest of the group considering what happened. You’d been so upset, so frazzled that you asked him to make you forget. He saw it in your eyes – the tears, the shame, the panic – so he did as you requested, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. He helped you forget, because he loved you despite everything you’d done to him.

To Steve.

To Natasha.

He still didn’t know your history in Cancun, but he knew enough. The way you looked at her, and then at him, told him everything he needed to know. You may have had some kind of history with her, but you didn’t love her. Not like you loved him – because you did. Some part of you did, he was sure of it. Tony was right; Bucky _did_ know you, and in his heart he knew you wouldn’t betray them. You were haunted by your past, but so was he. The two of you were so similar in that regard, and while you were many things: selfish, absolutely, but smart and witty and beautiful – what he knew you _weren’t_ was a traitor.

Natasha, on the other hand, was still reluctant and of course she was; she didn’t trust easily. She still didn’t trust you despite the intimacy and growing friendship between the two of you, but it was ingrained in her to be distrustful of anyone and everyone.

That said, she still thought that you were so stupidly honest sometimes, and in the end she couldn’t help but relent, too. She knew it was a bad idea, but she did it anyway. 

That was a mistake.


	15. Chapter 15

Tony definitely followed the limousine back here that night. Over the past three days, your hunch was only further confirmed when you caught glimpses of him in the sky every now and then. He was always way, way high up in the clouds, almost unnoticeable; in fact, you only noticed because you were purposely looking for him.

Now, he’d just flown by again. It was unfortunate that you hadn’t had a chance to call him out on it yet. You didn’t want him to get hurt.

Luckily, you finally had a minute to yourself, so you used it wisely.

Marisol was in her office down the hall, meeting with her first and second in command about an upcoming shipment. You recently snuck into that same office in the middle of the night and gathered as much intel about the shipment as you could – photos, mostly, but you had no secure way of sharing them and you didn’t have enough time to get into the finer details over comms.

That was the other reason why you put the device back into your ear. You knew it was suspicious that you’d taken out your earpiece that night, but you needed to keep it well-hidden for something like this. Because of your quick thinking, it hadn’t been confiscated like the rest of your electronics had been. Instead, Marisol had given you another phone – one that had her number pre-saved as _Mi_ _Corazón_.

My Heart. That was what you used to call her once. Kind of ironic that you’d used that very same phone to steal some intel about her operation.

“If you think you’re being discreet, you’re not,” you commented dryly into the earpiece.

“Jesus, kid!” You could hear Tony’s relief plain as day. “What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you responded, letting your bedroom curtains fall back into place. As much as you would have liked to catch up, you couldn’t. “I don’t have much time. There’s going to be a shipment next week. Meet me at Coco Bongo on Friday - we’ll be there at 8.”

Friday was another three days from now, so hopefully you’d be able to unearth some more intel before then. You had plenty of information about this shipment, but you wanted more about the rest, about her entire operation.

“What the hell?” came Bucky’s question – almost too quiet to hear, probably muttered under his breath.

At the same time, Steve immediately jumped on another part of what you said, and his tone was anything but nice. “’We’? What do you mean ‘we’?”

He would have already known, but he wanted you to say it anyway. 

That was when Marisol’s office door creaked open again much sooner than expected, and even though you wanted to say something – anything – to fix this shitshow of a situation, you just didn’t have enough time. “Shit! Friday at 8. Don’t be late.”

“Roger,” Natasha said just as you ripped the device from your ear and shoved it back under your mattress, where you’d kept it hidden since you arrived. The moment you finished, Marisol was already walking into your bedroom, and you quickly started straightening your sheets to make it look like you’d just been tidying up your bed.

“Oh, kitten,” Marisol purred, pulling your hands into hers, away from the bedding. “Don’t waste your energy on this. I pay my employees well.”

You were well-aware that she had a full complement of staff to maintain the residence: a head chef and kitchen hands, maids and butlers, and a groundskeeper, not to mention all of the armed guards posted outside. They were also her eyes and ears, though, too, a fact you remembered from the last time you were here.

In response, you gave her a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry. I’ve just gotten so used to doing these things myself.”

“I know, but you don’t have to. Not anymore.” Her voice was kind, but the implied order wasn’t; she was telling you to stop doing things yourself and just let her take care of you like she used to. Then she pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, lacing her fingers with yours as the two of you made your way downstairs. “Lunch is waiting for us in the garden. It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Nothing else compares to the weather here,” you admitted. “I’ve missed it.” 

That was the truth. Some part of you did miss it.

After a butler opened the French doors to the garden, you and Marisol walked outside hand-in-hand to bask in the warm sunlight. Spring and summer were typically quite hot, but today, the temperature was just right. When the balmy breeze blew through, the delicate fabric of your sundress brushed pleasantly against your thighs and a genuine smile came across your lips.

You _had_ missed this. The weather. Not Marisol.

She smiled back at you and squeezed your hand.

That was a lie. Maybe you did miss her just a little.

The gazebo was surrounded by beautiful flowers and greenery, wafting a sweet aroma through the air and as you approached, the perfectly-manicured grass tickled your bare feet. 

It was familiar. It was lovely. It was home – or at least, it had been once.

That was when you got the feeling that you were being watched. You knew you were; your teammates were likely still in the area looking for a way to rescue you, but they wouldn’t find one. The fences were reinforced, and there were far too many armed guards posted everywhere, inside and outside the gates and on the roof – not to mention your life would be at risk if they even tried.

The two of you started on lunch: a lovely spread of cured meats and cheeses, finger sandwiches, and champagne. Marisol toasted your arrival – “To new beginnings,” she said, and you cheerfully clinked your glasses together. Her happiness was real. Yours wasn’t. 

While you easily held up your end of the conversation, your heart wasn’t in it. Of course it wasn’t. Steve and Bucky were clearly not happy about your choices, but you couldn’t blame them. You’d done so many terrible things, too many of which they’d seen let alone the history you had here in Cancun: a history with Marisol, and a home with her, too.

You couldn’t help but scan the tree line, looking for any sign that your boys were there, but they’d taken your feedback to heart. Now they were being so discreet that you couldn’t spot anyone.

* * *

When you first left Cancun, you didn’t know how to cook, clean, or do laundry – and now that you were back, those mundane things proved to be good distraction. The normally boring chores you’d otherwise be doing right now back at the compound helped you twofold: to get your mind off of things, and to play Marisol like a fiddle.

One evening, you spent a couple of hours over the stove, preparing a lovely dinner for her. You had nothing else to do, and you thought that it might be a good way to show her that you cared. In truth, however, it was just another way of manipulating her. Not that she noticed.

She’d been extremely busy and cooped up in her office, so you set the table, lit some candles, and laid out the three-course meal you made. It wasn’t anything special compared to what her chef could have done, but she swooned at the hard work you’d put into such a kind, loving gesture, and after dinner she drew a bath for the two of you.

She, of course, ensured that there was a large selection of scented bath oils and bubble bars on display just for you. Some small part of you was flattered that she still remembered your favourite scents, but you were disgusted with yourself because of it. Slowly but surely, she was creeping back into your heart, and you hated it – hated her just as much as you once loved her. 

Maybe in some warped way, you still did.

While you soaped up her back and shoulders, she aired some of her frustrations about the upcoming shipment. She didn’t say when or where it was, just that tensions were high between the buyer and herself and she might need to find a new one depending on how things went. It wouldn’t impact the shipment itself so much as where the product went after.

That, at least, was a relief. You didn’t want to show up with useless intel. 

Worse still, you found yourself seeking comfort in her arms and in her bed. You wanted to forget everything, but you knew you never would. She was toxic. Some of that toxicity had seeped into your bones and poisoned any other relationship you may have had. 

Marisol was unforgettable in the best of ways, and the worst. 

The next day, you went back outside to the garden. It was nice to see how much the plants had flourished in the five years you’d been gone. The trees were taller, the bushes were larger, and there were so many more colourful flowers than before. Your original plan was to pick some for a bouquet, but you wound up chatting and helping to plant some seedlings with the groundskeeper you’d met so long ago. 

When you got back inside a couple of hours later, Marisol took in your dishevelled appearance with pursed lips. The sweat and soil on your skin wasn’t exactly ideal, and unsurprisingly, you could read her like a book. She wasn’t happy. You were her porcelain doll, prim and perfect; her caged bird. 

Clearly she hadn’t remembered how headstrong you were. You didn’t take kindly to orders. Never had. Your gardening was an act of rebellion, and she knew it well. 

Before she could get too worked up about it, however, you offered her a coy smile and the colourful bouquet, which she begrudgingly accepted with a quick peck on your lips – but she was adamant that you not get your hands dirty again. The look in her eyes was dangerous and dark, meant to remind you of your place here. 

You knew how she was – how she’d always been. Controlling. Domineering. She didn’t want you to lift a finger. No, she wanted to take care of you. She wanted to give you everything, and you were happy with that once. Ecstatic, really, because the two of you used to have ‘holier than thou’ attitudes. Once upon a time, you’d seen yourselves as above that kind of work. Only in recent years had your opinion changed on the matter.

By doing those things yourself, it was a clear statement that you’d changed in the last five years. She still seemed to be in her own little bubble of delusions, like nothing had changed at all and you were both still madly in love. You weren’t, but you sure could act like it, so that was what you did.

It was a façade you knew entirely too well. What you despised most was that some small part of it was real. 

* * *

Coco Bongo was one of the busiest nightclubs in Cancun. Before you left, you conducted a lot of your business in the upstairs VIP area overseeing the dance floor. It seemed that things hadn’t changed much. The only difference was that Marisol had taken over in your stead.

This was her domain now. The VIP lounge was purposely not very well-lit in order to help conceal deals and identities – yours being one of them.

When you first arrived back at her estate, she asked you to come out with her tonight to see all the work she’d done over the last few years. You soon learned that she came here every Friday night, just like you did once. You only came along this time because it was a good spot for an in-person meet-up; you didn’t want to spend any more time with her than necessary. 

After you passed on the intel, you were going to drink so much that you forgot your own name. 

It was really doing a number on your psyche, playing along with her delusions. You were a great actress and an even greater liar, but you could only handle so much. She was insatiable to the point that you’d lied about having your period, and even that wasn’t enough for her. Your fingers and mouth worked just fine, she told you, so you used them as unwilling as you felt.

Despite your many talents, even you couldn’t get Marisol to take ‘no’ for an answer. Never could. Never would. And now, you were starting to break.

You were already a few drinks in, feeling loose but nervous. Her hand rested on your thigh as she organized deals and shipments right in front of you. There was no need to be discreet here, and for that, you were thankful; you were getting plenty of information to pass along.

“I’ll be back,” you whispered into her ear, before you pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “Nature calls.”

At that, she smiled and smacked your ass when you stood. Maybe you would have winked at her once, but tonight, you were in no mood for it. Instead, you just offered her the ghost of a smile and half-stumbled your way down the stairs. Her laughter followed you until the bass took over.

Maybe you’d had a bit more to drink than you thought.

The music was much louder on the ground floor, booming in your ears as you tried to find a quieter, more secluded spot for a meet-up. What you wound up doing was actually going to the bathroom: the men’s near the east entrance. Unsurprisingly, it was empty. This entrance was still rarely used even after half a decade.

Shoving your comms into your ear, you reported your location under your breath. “Men’s room, east entrance.”

You expected Tony to be the one to respond, but it wasn’t. It was Steve. “Copy that.”

Hearing his voice only tied your stomach in knots. Your fingers drummed a anxious cadence next to the sink as you waited for him to come in. Of _course_ it was Steve; he probably volunteered for this just so he could read you the riot act. Over the past few days, your troubled mind wound up overanalysing every single word he said to you over the past couple of weeks, and now you’d all but convinced yourself he hated you. 

Why wouldn’t he? You were an awful person. You always had been.

The door was suddenly shoved open, then, and you jumped. Deafening music spilled into the small room before he shut and locked the door behind him. At first you didn’t recognize him, and you very nearly said that it was occupied – at least until you realized who it was.

Steve hadn’t relied on sunglasses and a baseball cap for his cover this time. Instead, he was wearing tight black t-shirt and jeans, along with a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and some week-old scruff. Probably hadn’t shaved since the gala. 

Natasha surely would have had some input considering you hadn’t even recognized him, but _damn_.

Both of you just stared at each other for a moment, with so many unspoken thoughts floating between the two of you but not a single one came to mind. All you could focus on was that the terrible fluorescent lighting brought out the blue in his eyes – eyes that trailed down your body, taking in every inch of shimmery exposed skin.

The short, tight dress you wore to the nightclub did nothing to hide your curves. Rather, it embraced them, and the glitter all over your body only added to the effect.

Steve used his tongue to wet his lips before he met your eyes again, but by that point your face was flushed. You blamed it on the alcohol.

Despite the butterflies in your stomach, which you also blamed on the alcohol, the way you greeted him was impersonal. “Rogers.”

It broke the spell.

“What do you have?” He nodded down to the phone in your hands, and his tone had a certain bite to it that made you wonder if he was accusing you of something, rather than just asking what intel you’d gathered. The offense must have shown on your face because he quickly rephrased, “What _intel_ , Agent?”

He wouldn’t even say your name. That stung.

“Here.” You flipped to your new phone’s gallery and offered it to him so that he could take a few photos of the screen. Despite his unfamiliarity with technology, Steve would have known just as well as you did that you couldn’t just email them because they’d be tracked. As he took the photos, you explained further, “She’s got weekly shipments on Monday nights at the port. They land in the US every Wednesday. Still trying to figure out where.”

“We’re working on that,” Steve told you, continuing to flip through your gallery, taking notes every now and then until one photo in particular made him freeze.

You tilted your head. “What?”

“I don’t know,” he spat, shoving the phone back at you. “You tell me.”

It was a photo of you and Marisol laying in bed, naked, with just the sheets covering you both. You were fast asleep with your head on her shoulder, and she was taking the selfie, running her fingers through your hair as you slept. Sweet. Intimate. Fake.

Well, not to her, it wasn’t. It wasn’t fake to Steve, either.

“I was just playing along,” you explained as evenly as you could. Truth be told, you didn’t even know she’d taken the picture. That bothered you, but you wouldn’t let it show. “If I win her back, I can get us a ton of intel.”

“If you _win her back_ — Christ, after all the shit you’ve pulled, you expect me to believe that?”

Here it was, the riot act you’d been waiting for. Even though you’d been expecting it, however, the shame you felt from his words made you look at the floor, chewing on your lower lip. You’d told him the truth, but he didn’t believe you. Of course he didn’t. You lied to him for months, hurt him in so many ways that he couldn’t trust you anymore.

“Steve, she's nothing to me.”

_Not like you._

He let out a long sigh at that, one full of annoyance and irritation.

“Yeah. Alright.” He clearly didn’t believe you. “Thanks for this,” he added, waving his phone briefly before he pushed it into his back pocket. “We’ll work on it. You just keep doing what you do best, you know, being you.”

That stung, too. Being you was punishment enough.

When he went to leave, you reached out for him before it even fully registered in your brain. Instinctive, almost.

“Wait—”

His skin was always so hot to the touch, and the feeling of his callused hand in yours sparked all sorts of emotions: loneliness, longing, happiness – or at least the ghost of what could have been, once.

You missed him, but he wasn’t having any of it. You realized as much when he pulled his hand from your grasp and gave you a look in warning.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, holding your hands up in front of you in surrender, doing your best to keep your tears at bay. You hadn’t drunk nearly enough to ugly cry yet, but it was definitely coming if the way your voice wavered was any indication. “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

“Jesus, doll,” he said, exasperated, muting his comms before he reached over to mute yours, too. This wasn’t a conversation either of you would have wanted the others to hear.

Steve’s fingertips accidentally brushed against your cheek as he pulled his hand away from your comms, and your heart stuttered within your chest. 

You missed him.

You missed him so fucking much. 

“I never meant to hurt you. I’m stupid and selfish and—” A sob escaped you, then, “and you didn’t deserve any of it. I’m so sorry.”

You weren’t sure why you were apologizing. You didn’t apologize. That wasn’t who you were. You’d hurt him – him and Bucky – and you’d never once apologized for it until tonight. Still, you meant every single word.

That was why it hurt so much when he bit out, “That’s low, even for you.”

Your head snapped up in surprise, eyes wide. He didn’t trust you. He didn’t believe you. He thought you were still trying to manipulate him.

Of course he did.

That realization was what finally made you cry.

Steve exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair in frustration, looking away from you – away from your tears like he couldn’t bear the sight. The bitter way he spoke your name made your heart weep. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. Just when I think we’re on the same page, you do something else and then we’re back to whatever the hell this is.”

“I know,” you croaked, sniffling. “I know, Stevie. I’m sorry.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to get the tears to just _stop_ , but it didn’t work. Then you blinked them open in surprise when you suddenly felt his palm on your cheek, large and warm and so, so familiar. It was hesitant, the way he touched you, but it made your face burn all the same. 

There was the barest hint of a smile on his lips when he said softly, “You’re a real mess, you know that?”

At that, you couldn’t help but laugh a little, leaning into his touch. “I know.”

Your gaze drifted from his eyes to his parted lips and back again; you couldn’t help it. His body was closer now, so much that the breath caught in your throat, especially when you realized that he was looking at you in the exact same way.

Embarrassment coursed through your veins. It hadn’t exactly been an ugly cry, but it wasn’t pretty either, what with your smeared makeup and running mascara. You were a mess in every sense of the word, and you knew it. 

Steve had seen more sides of you than you cared to admit.

Your skin flushed hot under his touch and the butterflies in your stomach multiplied as you stared up at him, almost in a daze. His eyes were always such a gorgeous blue, kind and gentle, even now – and for the first time in days, you felt like things were going to be okay.

“Can I trust you?” Steve asked you again, quietly, like he was afraid of the answer.

This time, however, you placed your hand atop his and gave him a watery smile. For the first time in a long, long while, you were completely honest. “Yes.”

That was the right answer, because he pulled you into his arms, flush against him as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head and whispered sweet nothings into your hair – things like, “I’ve missed you,” and, “Come back with me,” and, “I’ll take you home.”

Your fingers caught in the fabric of his shirt as you breathed in his comforting scent – clean, like fresh laundry and soap and _home_.

Three little words were on the tip of your tongue, but you forced them back. As tempted as you were to say them, you didn’t; and as desperately as you wanted to go with him, you couldn’t. This was the best opportunity any of you would have at shutting down the operation for good. Having someone on the inside was better than trying to gather information externally, especially considering how reclusive Marisol was let alone the fortress she lived inside.

You knew that he knew it, too. 

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that, holding each other under the too-bright fluorescent lights in that small nightclub bathroom, but it must have been too long – because when you finally returned to the VIP lounge upstairs, Marisol looked positively treacherous.


End file.
